


Reign Over Me

by Sheepie



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pianist, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Blind!Harry, Blindness, Digital Art, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Eggsy just wants to play the piano, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fighting Rings, Graphic Violence, Harry just wants to be alone, Heavy Angst, I mean a really long slow burn, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Sexual Content, Physical Abuse, Physical Disability, Pianist!Harry - Freeform, Slow Burn, Street fighting, songs included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-02 10:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13316574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepie/pseuds/Sheepie
Summary: If Eggsy closed his eyes, it almost sounded like the waves at Penmon Point hitting the cliffsides; he could almost pretend that he wasn’t sitting in the middle of a café, waiting for a job interview he was so desperate for he wasn’t above begging.Eggsy takes a job helping Roxy's blind uncle. It was only supposed to be a job, a chance for a new beginning. Eggsy wasn't supposed to fall in love, especially when Harry is still mourning the loss of his husband.-----Audio/Songs Included | Art by fyeahhartwin





	1. The Approaching Night

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for the flash bang, but after consideration, decided I wouldn't be posting it for it.
> 
> This chapter is self-betaed, so I apologize for any mistake.
> 
> This story is in collaboration with [fyeahhartwin](wwww.fyeahhartwin.tumblr.com) who created the artwork that will appear in the final chapter.
> 
> All chapters will have links to songs hand picked for the scenes. To fully experience each chapter, I recommend listening to them as you read.
> 
> This fic will be updated weekly. Next update will be in two weeks because I'll be gone next week.

            Rain fell at a slant outside café. It darkened the pavement and cast a cloud of white across the street. Occasionally he could hear the rush of it when the door opened. It was herald by the door’s bell, creating a delicate rhythm of metallic chimes and the patter of raindrops. If Eggsy closed his eyes, it almost sounded like the waves at Penmon Point hitting the cliffsides; he could almost pretend that he wasn’t sitting in the middle of a café, waiting for a job interview he was so desperate for he wasn’t above begging.

            “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Roxy announced.

            Eggsy opened his eyes and looked at her. Nearly six months had passed since they’d actually gotten together. Their lives were divided by class and tied together by a childhood fascination for music and piano lessons, and as years went on, Eggsy realized that these things weren’t enough to keep them from drifting apart.

            “It’s okay,” Eggsy said, not tacking on that he’d been waiting there for a good fifteen minutes.

            She gestured to the chair opposite him. “May I?”

            Eggsy shrugged. It wasn’t until she was halfway seated that he realized he should probably stand, and hastily pushed to his feet.

            She waved him back down and said, “What are you doing? This isn’t high tea.”

            “Right.” Heat crept up from under his collar. “How have you been?”

            “Honestly? Not the greatest. I’ve started scheduling time to breathe.”

            “Being busy is good though, right?” Eggsy said. “You seem to be doing well.”

            She wore a bespoke suit that no doubt cost more than his rent. He was sure she’d told him what she did in one of their passing conversations, but he couldn’t remember for the life of him what it was. Something no person in their early twenties should have been able to secure—but Eggsy supposed that was the benefit of having a family of influence.

            “Maybe. I haven’t quite decided, honestly. The tailor shop is launching a new promotion, and I’m helming the project, so it’s been… _interesting,_ to say the least.”

            A waiter swung by their table and collected their drink orders. Eggsy didn’t even have pocket change, so he stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie and said, “I’m good.”

            “Are you sure?” Roxy asked. “I’m treating.”

            Eggsy chomped down on the inside of his cheek, fighting against his kneejerk instinct to ardently reject charity. He may be proud, but his stomach was hollow, his throat parched, and his wallet a bigger void than the gray sky.

            “Whatever you’re having,” Eggsy said with a casual roll of his shoulders.

            “Two cups of your afternoon tea and two cobb salads, please,” Roxy said.

            “Thanks,” Eggsy mumbled, glancing out the window so he didn’t have to look at her. He curled his hand around the folded resume he had slipped in his pocket before leaving that morning.

            “You said you wanted to talk about some work?” Eggsy said, directing the conversation back to the main topic.

            Roxy’s text had been more than a bit of a surprise. Eggsy had thought she’d moved past their teetering relationship. He’d been sure she deleted his number from her phone, even though he clung to hers, like he could somehow recapture his childhood by doing so.

            “You said the last time we spoke that you were looking for work, right?”

            Technically that had been months ago, but Eggsy still hadn’t found a job so he didn’t point it out.

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you have experience with caretaking?” Roxy asked.

            Eggsy barely kept a derisive snort back.

            “Yeah, you could say I do,” He said. “I take care of my little sis, and my mum when she’s knocked back too many.”

            Which was almost on a nightly basis.

            To Roxy’s credit, her expression didn’t deflate into the familiar look of pity Eggsy had grown accustomed to receiving. She nodded and listened, waiting until he finished.

            “Do you remember my Uncle James?”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy said. “How is he?”

            Roxy’s gaze softened. “He actually passed away a little over a year ago.”

            “Christ, Rox… I’m sorry.” She hadn’t mentioned anything when they talked. Maybe that was why she’d dropped off the radar for so long.

            “Thanks,” She murmured.

She paused when the waiter arrived to deliver their drinks. Eggsy chewed on his bottom lip, guilt pooling in his stomach. He wrapped his hands around his mug but didn’t take a drink. Steam curled from the tea, distorting his sepia reflection.

“It came as a bit of a surprise.”

            “How… how did it happen?”

            Roxy pressed her mouth together, and Eggsy almost said forget it. “Car accident,” She answered finally.

            “Jesus. Bruv, I’m really sorry.”

            She waved her hand. “The reason I asked about your experience was because of my Uncle’s husband. I don’t think you ever met him.”

            “No, I did know he was married.”

            “Almost thirty years…” She paused, staring down at her tea. Eggsy took a sip of his, allowing her time to compose herself. Roxy sighed through her nose and the first signs of exhaustion began to show, taking shape in dark circles under her eyes. “Harry hasn’t been adapting well to James’s death.”

            “I’m sure it’s hard. Mum was a right mess after da died,” Eggsy said.

            His da died while abroad for the Marines. Eggsy still could remember when the men showed up at their door with the news. White Christmas played on the radio.

            Roxy offered a sympathetic smile. “Harry’s legally blind. It’s never interfered with his life before, but since Uncle James’s death, he’s kind of… well, stopped caring, I suppose is the best way to describe it. And a few weeks ago I got a call from the police. He got jumped coming back from the shop.”

            “So, what do you want me to do?” Eggsy asked.

            “Well, I want someone there in case anything happens. Keep an eye on him. Do some light house cleaning and cooking. Make sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

            Eggsy blinked, not sure if she was serious or not. “Uh…”

            Their salads were brought. Eggsy immediately tucked in, inhaling half of it before Roxy even took her first bite. He flushed when she started to chuckle and he took a demurer bite of lettuce.

            “I know that sounds vulgar to say, but…” She poked at her salad. “James was Harry’s world. They were each other’s worlds. And now that he isn’t there, Uncle Harry doesn’t seem to know what to do. He never would have been jumped before, even going out by himself. I’m afraid he’s purposely lowering his guard.”

What the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

Absently, he continued to eat, wishing there was more dressing on the salad. His gaze lingered over the other patrons. They were all in their own happy worlds. Warm. Safe. Small planets caught in the same orbit. They circled one another, all moving in the same direction, to some place that Eggsy never could seem to reach.

And he was left sitting there, stranded in the nothingness.

He turned away and looked out the window. His stomach grew leaden with each bite of food and silent second that passed.

            “I would go with a more traditional provider,” Roxy finally said, “But I know Harry will turn away whoever shows up. I’m hoping that maybe if I go private, and if I say you’re just a housekeeper, he’ll not kick up much of a fuss.”

            Eggsy nodded, as if he understood. He didn’t. He didn’t even know if he wanted this responsibility. But he needed work, and no one else was offering him anything.

            Silence lapsed over them as they ate. When Eggsy finished scraping the last bit of egg and lettuce from the bowl, he said, “Okay. I can do it.”

            Relief flooded her eyes. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means.”

            Eggsy shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh, how does this work?”

            “The position is live-in, with room and board covered. Five-hundred pounds a week sound good?”

            Eggsy choked on his saliva. “Five-hundred?”

            Jesus, with that kind of money, he could get his mum and Daisy out from under Dean.

            “Yeah, that sounds good,” Eggsy said.

            “When can you start?” Roxy asked with a small, private smile.

            “How does tomorrow sound?” Eggsy said. He’d offer to go tonight, but he didn’t want to seem overly eager. Besides he needed to tie up some loose ends—specifically, he needed to let his mum know, while also avoiding Dean. The last thing he wanted was Dean catching wind and getting worked up because Eggsy won’t be there.

            As much as leaving his mum and sister killed him, they need the extra money, and Eggsy couldn’t stay under that roof anymore. Not with Dean breathing down his neck to make some runs for him, threatening to turn him out onto Smith Street if he doesn’t start bringing in money. Eggsy wouldn’t need another job if Dean hadn’t blown his last one.

It had been a mistake letting him find out about his gig at the Tesco. As soon as his manager found out about Dean lifting most of the merchandise, Eggsy was tossed out with the trash.

“Tomorrow is perfect. I’ll text you the address. If Harry gives you any problems when you arrive, just give me a call.”

“Okay.”

How much of a problem could this guy give? As long as he wasn’t anything like Dean, Eggsy could handle whatever he had to throw at him.

They finished their meal. Eggsy chewed on his lip when Roxy pulled out her credit card. He didn’t meet her eyes as he grumbled, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Roxy said as she stood. “Tomorrow then? How does two o’clock sound?”

“Good,” Eggsy said and stood with her. He offered his hand. “Two o’clock.”

She shook his hand, her grip firm, and left. Eggsy watched her open her brolly through the window and start down the street. He waited until she was out of sight before he left, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. He fished his headphones from his pockets and popped them into his ear.

The rain immediately soaked through his jacket. The coldness slid through him. He felt it down to his toes, in the roots of his veins, in the depths of his marrow, and he hunkered his shoulders against the wind that ripped down the street.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and hit the button to turn on his music. The rush of rain and the sound of car horns were replaced by a [piano](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jypdh_J5omc). Eggsy drew in a deep breath and let it out through his nose as the music took hold of his brain.

Pedestrians walked past him, their shoulders clipping his. He didn’t look up as he walked, didn’t give anyone a second glance—they never did for him. Absently he tapped his fingers against his thigh in time with the music, as if he were playing the chords himself.

At least when the music was playing, he didn’t notice the way his clothes heavily draped over his body by an extra stone because of the rain. He didn’t notice how his sneakers, a pair of designer knock offs he pilfered from a bloke on his block, squelched with each step, his feet swimming in their soles. When the music was playing, he could forget the circumstances of the world, and simply exist between the notes.

There had been a time, many years ago before his da died, that he played piano. For two years after he even kept playing. It wasn’t until he realized how badly his mum scraped by to pay for his lessons. Once he learned about their cost, he told his mum he wanted to quit. While she tried to convince him otherwise, he’d seen the relief in her eyes.

Eggsy tried to make do by using Mrs. Baldwin’s—who lived three doors down—piano. But lately he hadn’t even been able to manage that, what with Dean breathing down his neck, and him having to scrounge up enough money just to feed Daisy.

Eggsy stopped in front of the window of a piano store. It was a frequent stop, even if it was always out of the way.

The rain pattered against his shoulders, dripping down his nose. He uselessly scrubbed it away with a soggy sleeve and looked inside.

There were all kinds of pianos: uprights, console pianos, baby grands, grands and concert grands. Brands from Yamahas to Bösendorfer. Eggsy always found himself drawn to the smallest of Steinway & Sons. It seemed a likelier dream than one of the concert grands, but even the smallest grand piano was a fading star. But just a chance to play, even once, would be more than Eggsy could want.

Mrs. Baldwin had an upright that needed retuning every other day. Eggsy made do with what he had, but what would it be like to play on a _real_ piano?

He looked down at his hands, water pooling in the curve of his palms. When he looked back up, a shopkeeper stared disapprovingly out at him.

Eggsy swallowed and turned away.

When he reached home, he was shivering. He removed his headphones and shoved them in his pocket before Eggsy went inside.

“Oi, you’re dripping everywhere,” Dean shouted from the couch before Eggsy could even close the door.

“It’s pissing out there, what do you expect?” Eggsy said.

“Eggsy,” His mum chided, her words lost under the weight of Dean’s booming voice.

“Watch your mouth.” Dean pointed at him. The skin around his finger was red as sausages, and just as fat.

Eggsy considered pushing, but he was freezing and wanted dry clothes. He turned away and headed to his room. Daisy was in her crib, sound asleep. Eggsy shrugged out of his coat and dropped it at the foot of the bed to deal with later.

As quietly as he could, he collected some dry clothes and escaped into the bathroom. He could hear the television, even with the shower on. When he finished washing and thawing his bones, he dried off and made a hasty retreat to his bedroom. Daisy turned in her pack-and-play. Eggsy pulled her blanket over her with a tired smile and tucked the corners in close.

He grabbed an empty bookbag from the closet and started to throw clothes into it. He wasn’t sure what he’d need, but he figured whatever he missed he could always have Jamal or Brandon retrieve.

Eggsy’s stomach grumbled, even though he just ate a salad not too long ago. But he skipped dinner last night and breakfast that morning to escape Dean, so he the cobb salad only took the edge off the hunger pangs.

He rubbed his stomach and finished shoving the last of his clothes into the bag. The front door opened and closed with the tale-tell slam of Dean parting. Ever since Eggsy was a boy, when Dean arrived like a plague of locust, he banged doors and shook walls, an apocalyptic force that had engrained into Eggsy the need to take cover.

Eggsy crept over to his bedroom door and pressed his ear against it. The rough wood was a familiar scrape against his cheek as he strained to listen. The television blanketed any other sound.

Tension curled in his stomach. He opened the door and walked into the main room. If he was lucky, Dean would have popped out for a pack of smokes.

“Hey mum,” Eggsy started, slowing to a stop when he spotted Dean reclining on their stained couch.

“What the fuck do you want?” Dean asked, sparing Eggsy a glance.

Eggsy bit back a smart rejoinder. “Nothing.”

 Dean narrowed his eyes at him. Eggsy looked away and headed over to the kitchen. He could feel Dean tracking his movements, his gaze the point of a knife resting against the back of his neck.

            Eggsy opened and closed the fridge, pretending to root around for something to eat. His mum had been too pissed that morning, recovering from the night before, to go shopping, and Eggsy didn’t have any money to go out and get some.

            When all he could scrape by were a few slices of cheese and some semi-stale bread, he made himself a cheese sandwich.

            He was halfway back to his room, when Dean called, “Muggsy, get back here.”

            The budding tension snapped his spine straight. He turned and dragged himself into the living room.

            “What?”

            “Tomorrow you’re heading down with me and the boys to meet Tone,” Dean stated. He took a swig from his beer, his attention never wavering from the television.

            “I won’t be here,” Eggsy said.

            Dean paused mid-drink and glanced at him. “You will be, if you know what’s good for you.”

            Eggsy squared his shoulders. “I told you I’m not doing that. I’m not a runner.”

            Dean plunked his can down on the coffee table. “Fuck you aren’t. What else you good for? You want to try Smith Street again? Bills aren’t paying themselves, Muggsy. Now shut your damn trap and do as you’re fucking told. Tomorrow. We’re heading down at five in the morning to go over the new shipment.”

            He set his jaw and defiantly met Dean’s warning glare. His hand twitched as he struggled against the reflex to cower.

            “I told you, no. I’m going to do _real_ work—take care of this family, because someone has to.”

            Dean stood, and Eggsy took a step back. “What did you say?”

            “Forget it,” Eggsy said and turned around. “I’m going to bed.”

            “Get back here you shite stain,” Dean shouted.

            Eggsy made it halfway to his bedroom before Dean jerked him by the shoulder and slammed him into the wall. The sandwich Eggsy had been holding fell to the ground, crushed under Dean’s boot. Eggsy flinched, recoiling, before thrusting up, trying to knock Dean off.

            “Let go!”

            Dean shoved a nicotine stained finger into his face, fisting his other hand in the front of Eggsy’s shirt. “Think you’re a big man, huh Muggsy? You ain’t _shite_ , you hear me? You’re a piece of garbage, and the only reason you’re still here is because your mum is too fucking stupid to realize how useless you are.”

            “Fuck you,” Eggsy spat.

            The slap was lightning fast. Temporary white engulfed his vision, sparked by hot bolts across his cheek. His ears rung from the force of the open palm blow.

            “You fucking show tomorrow, you hear me, or you don’t fucking come back here. I’m sick of you freeloading, it’s time you earned your fucking keep.”

            Dean shoved him towards the door. Eggsy stumbled in, tonguing at his split lip. He rubbed at his jaw, the flesh warm from the strike, and slipped into his room. He closed and locked the door behind him.

            The weight in his legs gave out and he slowly sunk to the floor. “Fuck him,” Eggsy whispered harshly, the words trembling off his tongue. He could still feel the pain radiating along his jaw, like Dean hadn’t stopped hitting him.

            He wasn’t going to be a runner. There was no way he was going down that path. All it would do was lead to more heartache for his mum. If he wanted to really help her, if he wanted to get her and Daisy out from under Dean, he needed a job.

Needed this job.

            Five-hundred pounds a week could add up to a lot of money.

            He needed to get out of there.

            Eggsy waited beside the door, his stomach gnawing at its self as he listened to his mum return and the both of them get pissed over again. Around midnight they stumbled into bed. Eggsy lingered long enough to check over Daisy and kiss her goodbye—guilt ripping through him at the thought of leaving her there by herself—and slipped out the front, his bag thrown over his shoulder.

            The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the droplets glittering in the halogenic light of the street lamps. There wasn’t anywhere to go this late. Jamal had the night shift, and Ryan had told him the other day he’d be at his girlfriend’s. Eggsy considered popping into Brandon’s or Liam’s place, but they both lived at home, and Eggsy doubt either of their mums would be happy with him showing up in the dead of night.

            In five hours, the Underground would be up and running. If Eggsy could find somewhere warm until then, he could kip off until he had to show for work.

            He blew into his icy hands and started down the stairwell. He pulled his hood on over his head, slipped out his headphones, and plugged them into his ears. If he kept moving, he’d stay warm. Maybe not dry, but at least it would be something.

* * *

            Eggsy rode the transit from five in the morning until ten, when he bumped into a bird who used to live on the Estate. It took him a moment to remember her name, but it came back when her face lit up with laughter.

“Tilde, right?” Eggsy said and took a seat beside her.

“Yeah,” She said and tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. There was the hint of a Swedish accent in her voice.

Eggsy shrugged off her questions, flashed a dimple smile, and chatted her up until they came to her stop.

            They went back to her place. On the way there, Eggsy charmed her into buying them some food, which he all but inhaled. He was pretty sure she knew he was starving—she’d fucking caught him sleeping on the transit, but neither of them said anything about Eggsy’s rumpled clothes or the bruise smarting his cheek.

            She brought him back to her flat and they tumbled into her bed. He could have easily gone back to bed, but he knew no meal came for free, so he kissed her like she was his world, and really in that moment, when his entire existence had narrowed to a desperate drive to survive, she _was_.

            She was soft and warm beneath him. Her breathy moans reminded him that he was alive, and when he felt more like a specter than human, it made him corporal.

            When they finished, Eggsy collapsed beside her and stared at the ceiling.

            He must have fallen asleep, because when he woke she was shaking his leg. “Hey.”

            Eggsy cracked an eye open and looked at her, her gorgeous hair still tangled and muse.

            “I have to get going soon,” She said.

            “Can I take a shower before I go?” Eggsy really didn’t want to roll into his new job reeking of sex and the Underground.

            Her gaze softened. “Yeah. But be quick, kay?”

            Eggsy groaned and sat up. He slipped into her bathroom, his gaze lingering briefly over her apothecary collection of oils and creams, and then slipped into the shower.

            She was dressed when he finished. He changed into one of his fresh pairs of clothes. She didn’t say anything at his bag, even when he caught her staring.

            “This was fun,” She said, and Eggsy nodded.

            “Yeah.”

            “Call me sometime, okay?” She said and held her hand out for his phone. He handed it over and she programmed her number under her name.

            Eggsy didn’t know if he would, and he suspected that Tilde really didn’t want him to, but it felt necessary, like by extending the request it made their entire affair less sordid.

            He left and checked the messages on his phone. Roxy sent him the address and he sent back a confirmation he was on his way.

            A cold wind stirred Eggsy’s damp hair. At least it wasn’t raining.

            He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and started down the street. Halfway there, Roxy texted him to let him know she couldn’t make it there to introduce him, but Harry knew of his arrival.

            Anxiety clenched his stomach and threatened to bring up the fish and chips Tilde had bought him. Roxy hadn’t exactly painted a welcoming picture with this bloke.

            “Bollocks,” Eggsy grumbled.

            Harry lived in Stanhope Mews in a flat that was interchangeable with the ones around it. Their white facades were defined by elegant windows and flower boxes overflowing with zinnias and petunias. The cobbled path was scrubbed clean, the leaves and trash brushed away, so the front of the flats was picture-perfect.

            Eggsy felt like he should be paying someone just to stand in front of the quintessentially British homes. He glanced down the street, then double checked his phone to make sure he was at the right place.

            A woman walking her dog eyed him distrustfully from across the street. Eggsy offered her a smile, but when her scowl didn’t break, he turned and approached Harry’s door.

            Heart thumping like he’d just run a race, he knocked. His shoulders throbbed with the tension curled between them. He kept his chin high as he waited for someone to answer. When no one did, he knocked again.

            The door scraped open to reveal a man in his early fifties. He filled out the doorframe with his lean body. An oatmeal cardigan covered his broad shoulders and outstretched arms. He was a good three or four inches taller than Eggsy, and it was pure legs.

            “Yes, may I help you?” The man asked. His milky eyes looked above Eggsy’s head.

            “Hi,” Eggsy said, offering his hand, before realizing that was stupid and immediately dropping it. Harry adjusted his gaze so it dropped a few inches. “I’m Eggsy Unwin, Roxy hired me to be your housekeeper.”

            Harry pressed his mouth together tightly. He clasped the doorframe with his left hand, blocking the passage.

            “I’m sorry, but you’ve been misinformed. I’m not in need of a housekeeper, or whatever else Roxy hired you for,” Harry stated with a clipped tone. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m quite busy.”

            “Wa-wait,” Eggsy said, smacking his hand against the door as Harry started to close it.

            “Good day,” Harry snapped and shoved the door closed, immediately locking it.

            Eggsy dropped his hand and stepped off the stoop, gaping at the door. Heat rose up the back of his neck. He fished out his phone and called Roxy.

            “Hello?” Roxy greeted.

            “Roxy, it’s Eggsy.” Before she could respond, he continued, “Harry just gave me the boot.”

            “He did what?” Roxy sighed. “God damn it.” After a pause, she said, “Look, I hate to do this but would you mind coming back tomorrow? I can’t get out there now to calm him down, but I’ll swing by after work and speak with him.”

            Eggsy looked down at his sneakers and kicked at the ground. “Sure, whatever you need.”

            “Thank you Eggsy, I really appreciate this. And don’t worry, you’ll still get paid for today.”

            “Yeah, no worries,” Eggsy said with a sigh and hung up.

            Great that he was getting paid, but he wouldn’t see it until the first pay check, and now he had to face another night without a roof over his head. He couldn’t go back to Dean. He’d be livid that Eggsy pulled a Houdini.

            “Fuck,” Eggsy whispered harshly.

            Maybe he could catch Brandon or Ryan. He started back towards the station and called Ryan.

            “Hey, bruv,” Eggsy said. “Care to catch a pint at the Black Prince?”

            “Sorry bruv, I’m out with Tonya.”

            Eggsy bit the inside of his cheek. “Give her my love.”

            He tried Brandon next.

            “You free?” Eggsy asked in lieu of a greeting.

            To his relief, Brandon said, “Yeah. What’s up?”

            “Care for a pint?”

            “You buying?” Brandon asked.

            “Thinking maybe you could treat,” Eggsy said.

            “Well, you may not want to head down to the Black Prince. Dean has been banging around all day, looking for you. He’s right pissed.”

            Eggsy slowed to a stop. “Think it’s safe to come by your place?”

            “He’s already been here once. Don’t know if he’ll be back. Do you need a place to crash?”

            “Just for tonight. I got a job, but it doesn’t start until tomorrow,” Eggsy said.

            “I’m not home, but I’ll let mum know to let you in.”

            “Thanks Brandon, I owe you one.”

            “You can treat me next time to that pint.”

* * *

            Eggsy crashed at Brandon’s and slept for the rest of the day, only waking when Brandon returned with a pizza. They spent a few hours playing video games, before Eggsy went back to sleep. At some point in the night Brandon got into bed next to Eggsy, and Eggsy curled against him, seeking out the warmth like a kitten rutting around for his mother.

            Eggsy woke the next morning with Brandon’s arm draped around his waist. Eggsy stayed there, the weight of another body against his comforting. Brandon snuffled against the curve of his neck.

            At some point Eggsy drifted back to sleep, only to wake again by the smell of bacon. This time the bed was empty. He slipped out of the bed, stretching his arms and cracking his spine with a loud yawn, and headed out to the living room. Brandon and his siblings all sat around the table.

            “Sleeping beauty woke,” Brandon said, stuffing a piece of bacon in his mouth.

            His mum pointed to a seat. “Go on, dig in before it’s gone.”

            Eggsy kissed her cheek and tucked in next to Brandon. He ladled eggs and a rasher of bacon onto a plate and devoured the food. After they finished, Eggsy helped with the dishes, and then retreated to Brandon’s room until it was time for him to leave.

            “So, what’s the job?” Brandon asked, his attention focused on his game of Call of Duty.

            “Looking after some blind bloke,” Eggsy said. “His niece hired me to clean his house and make sure he takes his meds. Not glamourous, but it comes with food and board.”

            Brandon died and passed Eggsy the remote. “It’s better than running for Dean.”

            “He wanted me to,” Eggsy said. “That’s why he’s so pissed.”

            “Don’t,” Brandon said. “You remember what happened to Frankie.”

            Eggsy set his jaw and hunched over his knees. He didn’t say anything, because he did remember what happened to Frankie. Remembered that he used to hang out with them, used to be a good guy, and then Dean sunk his claws into him and pulled him a part at the seams. Remembered finding him face down in the gutter, a fucking bullet hole in his back.

            He left Brandon’s at one. Roxy messaged him that she spoke with Harry again and everything should be taken care of, but if he needed anything to call. He considered sending a text back that she should just meet him there.

            No one was walking their dog when Eggsy arrived. A small blessing, considering he had the sinking feeling Harry would be as difficult as he was yesterday.

            Eggsy knocked on the door with a deep sigh and waited for Harry to answer it. He opened the door on the first knock.

            “May I help you?” Harry greeted. He was dressed in a similar cardigan as yesterday, but his look had the addition of a book clasped in his hands, the cover blank except for a few raised bumps that Eggsy couldn’t make out beneath Harry’s wide palm.

            “Uh, hi,” Eggsy said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m the bloke from yesterday, the one Roxy hired.”

            Harry’s welcoming expression immediately crumpled into a frown. “And I told her I wasn’t interested,” Harry snapped. “Please leave.”

            “Look, bruv, why don’t you just call Roxy?” Eggsy said through grit teeth. He preemptively held a hand out to stop the door from shutting on him. “I’m not trying to kick up trouble, I’m just trying to get a job.”

            “There’s nothing to discuss,” Harry said and started to shut the door. It hit Eggsy’s palm with a firm push. He braced his arm, preventing it from shutting him out. Harry made a disgruntled sound. “Stop that.”

            “Look, I’m just going to call Roxy and get this all cleared.” Eggsy reached into his pocket with his free hand and fished out his phone. While keeping one eyed trained on Harry, Eggsy maneuvered through his phone and pulled up Roxy’s number. He hit dial.

            The phone rang. Harry let go of the door and crossed his arms over his chest. Eggsy would have laughed at how he looked like a petulant child being scolded if his own body wasn’t wound tighter than a screw.

            Just as Eggsy thought it would cut to voicemail, Roxy answered. “Hello?”

            “Sorry to bother you Roxy. Look, I’m here with Harry and he’s still giving me the ol’ heave ho. I know you’re busy, but can you pop on down here and talk to him?”

            “Still?” The frayed note to her voice only made Eggsy’s body tighten further. “I thought I had this all cleared yesterday with him. Christ. Eggsy, I’m so sorry. I would, truly. But I’m actually on my way to the airport now. I have to run out to the printer.”

            Eggsy spun around, his back to Harry, and whispered harshly, “What do you mean you aren’t here? Rox, he’s not going to let me in. What am I supposed to do?”

            “Put him on the phone, I’ll talk some sense into him,” Roxy said.

            The sharp click of a door resounded behind him. Eggsy turned and looked at the shut front door. He dropped his shoulders in defeat. “No, I’ll sort it out,” Eggsy mumbled. “Have a safe trip.”

            “I’ll call him when I land. I know this is a big bother, and I promise you’ll be paid for your time. He’s just stubborn and stuck in his old ways, but he’ll come around,” Roxy said.

            As much as Eggsy wanted to scream at everything, he could hear the exhaustion in Roxy’s voice. She sounded like his mum after a night of cleaning up both Dean’s and Daisy’s sick.

            “Don’t stress, you just focus on your trip. I’ll sort this out.” Eggsy said, though he hadn’t had the foggiest idea how he’d do that.

            “Thank you Eggsy, you’re a life saver,” Roxy said.

            He hung up and banged on the door. When Harry didn’t answer, Eggsy shouted, “I ain’t leaving bruv, so you might as well let me in. I’ll just sit here until you do.”

            Harry didn’t respond, not that he expected him to.

            Eggsy huffed and sat down on the stoop, propping his elbows on his knees. The pavement of the stoop was hard and cold, even through his denim, but he wasn’t going to back down. If he gave up, that meant he had to go back to Dean, and Eggsy wasn’t going to do that.

            He could sit there and wait. He’d spent many nights at the hospital because his mum needed her stomach pumped from the pills or because Daisy had a fever and his mum was too drunk to take her to the emergency room. If he could sit in a waiting room for three hours with only infomercials on the telly, then he could sit in front of Harry’s door.

            The woman with the small dog walked by after an hour and stopped to look disapprovingly at him. Eggsy gave her a two-finger salute.

            He occupied himself with his phone for the first two hours, and then with a stick he picked out of the bushes. Around eight he left, but not before banging on Harry’s door one last time and shouting, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

            On the way to the station, he shot Brandon a message to see if he could crash at his place again. He really didn’t want to sleep on the subway again. He headed back to Brandon’s when he got the okay.

* * *

            Eggsy returned Harry’s flat at eight in the morning and banged on the door. When Harry didn’t answer, he shouted, “I’m not going.”

            He took vigil on Harry’s stoop, his back pressed against the door and his legs curled to his chest. He stayed until eight in the evening, and then he picked himself up and head back to Brandon’s.

            Over and over, Eggsy returned, determined to chip away at Harry’s frigid exterior. He wasn’t even sure if Harry was home when he knocked in the morning. He never came to the door, never looked out the window (though Eggsy supposed he wouldn’t), so as far as Eggsy knew he could have gone before he arrived. After the second day, Eggsy called Roxy to see when she’d be back, but he only got voicemail.

            He was afraid the old bag that walked her dog would call the cops, but she never did.

            Eggsy woke on the fifth night to the rain. He looked at the black sky and shielded his face with his hand. It soaked him through to the bone in a matter of seconds. He considered returning to Brandon’s.

            He stood, his legs trembling from being contorted in the same position for too long. Even though he’d been sitting all day, he was exhausted. Every part of him wanted to lay down and never get up, to let the rain end it all.

            Was this what it meant to be stuck in purgatory? He couldn’t go home and he couldn’t move forward. He was stuck, sitting at Harry’s doorstep, waiting for a man he didn’t know to throw him a life preserver.

            Why was his life always dependent on others? What did it feel to be free? To not rely on the world?

            Eggsy sucked in a sharp breath, his bottom lip trembling. Sometimes he wondered if he did something horrible in a past life. All he wanted was to take care of Daisy and his mum. All he wanted was to protect his family. So why did he keep being punished?

            He was tired. Tired of coming upon walls. Tired of tearing them down, only to find new ones built behind them. He picked up the pieces to his own world, over and over, trying to hold them together with nothing but tape, and everyone kept coming by and breaking it again.

            A tremor shook his fist. He spun on his heels and pounded on the door. “Fine! Fucking stay in there!” Water sprayed out of Eggsy’s mouth. He choked on a sob. “All Roxy did was care about you! All I wanted to do was help! But if you want to be in there by yourself, then just fucking stay there!”

            He turned around, determined to leave, but when he went to take the first step, his body seized. He sobbed, his vision blurring until the rain looked like white noise on the television. Compressed by the enormity of the sky, Eggsy collapsed back onto the wet stoop and curled into himself.

            “I need this job,” Eggsy croaked. He ran a hand through his hair, knocking his cap off, and buried his face into his knees.

            What now? What was he supposed to do now?

            Eggsy couldn’t start running, not for Dean. He didn’t want to end up like Frankie. Didn’t want to be another statistic glossed over on the nightly news, forgotten with the rest of the trash.

            Maybe he should try Smith Street. Sure, last time Dean twisted his arm—literally—about it, Eggsy ended up breaking his first client’s nose, but he could grin and bear it. If it meant food on the table for Daisy. If it meant bringing in something to save his family.

            Suddenly the rain stopped falling. Eggsy blinked and lifted his head, looking at the curving inside of a black umbrella.

            “Are you still there?” Harry asked, holding the umbrella over Eggsy.

            Eggsy sniffed and wiped his nose with his damp sleeve. “Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

            Neither spoke for a moment, and then Harry said, “Well, come along. You don’t want to catch a cold, now do you?”

            Eggsy snorted. He wasn’t about to argue, though. He stood, picking up his hat, and followed Harry inside. Harry shut the door and shook the umbrella before collapsing it and returning it to the stand.

            “So, you’re going to let me work?” Eggsy asked. Droplets rolled down his cheeks and dripped from his hair. It was dark in the foyer, the only light coming from the front porch lamp.

            “I didn’t say that,” Harry said. “But I won’t have your death on my hand, and you’ve proven to be the stubborn kind.”

            “So, what then?”

            “For starters, you can clean up this water your dripping on my floor. And then you can sleep in the guest room. But this doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to you working here. I don’t need a caretaker, or whatever ruse Roxy is playing at.”

            “She’s just worried about you,” Eggsy said.

            “And I appreciate that, but I’m still in complete control my faculties. I’m not some eighty year old man in capable of walking up the steps. I got mugged. It can happen to anyone.”

            “She’s not trying to insinuate that. She just thinks you need a bit of help, that’s all.”

            “Do you want the bed or not?” Harry asked caustically.

            Eggsy snapped his mouth shut, heat rushing over his frigid skin. “Yeah.”

            “Then I suggest you clean this mess and go to it, before I find my senses.” Harry walked away, briskly maneuvering through the house with the ease of a man who’d traveled a path many times. “Towels are in the hall closet upstairs. The guest room is the first room on the right, bathroom is across from it.”

            With an exasperated sigh, Eggsy retrieved the towel from upstairs—nearly killing himself as he stumbled through the dark—and cleaned the mess. He then retreated to the room. He deposited his bag onto the floor and pulled out his phone to let Brandon know he wouldn’t be coming back.

            Even though this wasn’t a guarantee Harry wouldn’t kick him out at first light, at least Eggsy made it inside. Absently, at his made his way to the bathroom, he noted that the house held an emptiness to it, like only ghosts lived there.

* * *

            Concrete scraped against Eggsy’s back as he hid behind the wall. He looked around the corner, checking to make sure Harry hadn’t gotten too far ahead of him. That morning when he woke, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. He figured Harry would give him the immediate boot, but to his surprise he’d only gotten frigid indifference. While Eggsy wasn’t really looking to start a cold war, he’d take it over sitting on the front stoop for ten hours.

            He used the morning to familiarize himself with the house, being mindful to stay out of Harry’s way. He’d gotten a bit of a fright when he discovered the dog in the downstairs bog. He wasn’t one-hundred percent sure, but he’s pretty sure he heard Harry cackling in the other room.

            Harry had a piano in the living room. It was a dusty upright pressed against a far wall, buried under stacks of books and trinkets, like Harry had been trying erase it from the room.

            Around lunch time, just as he was about to offer to make something to eat, he heard the front door open and close. Eggsy scrambled to get his shoes on and follow Harry.

            A couple walking past gave him a stopped to look as he craned to look at Harry. Eggsy offered an awkward smile, hoping he came off reassuring, but pretty sure he just looked like a creeper. He wouldn’t have to sneak if he Harry wouldn’t make such a big deal about him being there, but considering how well things had gone so far, Eggsy doubted he’d be happy about having a chaperone.

            To Harry’s credit, he strode confidently through the crowd, the tails of his coat flapping behind him, offering glimpses of his impossibly long legs.

            Eggsy came around from the corner and trailed behind him, offering a wide enough birth that a small crowd could pass through. When Harry came to a stop at a street corner, Eggsy’s entire body tensed. He lurched forward, barely stopping himself from grabbing onto Harry’s arm.

            Harry cocked his head to the side, the tip of his walking stick hovering over the ledge of the curb.

            Someone brushed past Eggsy. He could feel the proximity of the pedestrians as they flowed around him, creating a part in the sea of bodies. He watched Harry with bated breath, ready to lunge if he needed to.

            Cars flew down the street. All Eggsy could see was Harry’s body crumpling under one of the taxis and Eggsy having to explain to Roxy how he let her other uncle get hit by a car.

            The light turned red and the cars came to a stop. Harry continued walking, as if he never broke stride.

            Eggsy slumped his shoulders with a sigh and waited ten seconds before following behind him. A throng of people moved in front of him, gathering like a flock of birds, and obscuring his view of Harry.

            “Shite, move,” Eggsy groused, hopping up to catch a glimpse of Harry. A cold thread coiled through him when he couldn’t find Harry. “Fuck.”

            Propelled forward, Eggsy elbowed his way out of the crowd and turned the corner at nearly a full run. He skidded to a stop, nearly careening into Harry, who stood in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest.

            His eyes were obscured by a pair of sleek black sunglasses that complimented the square line of his jaw. His mouth was set in a disapproving line.

            “Uh,” Eggsy said, taking a step back.

            “Is there a reason you’re following me?” Harry demanded.

            “I’m not following you,” Eggsy said. “Just happen to be going this way.”

            “How convenient that we happen to be going in the same direction. Tell me, are you off to the Mark and Spencer as well?”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy said, straightening his shoulders to make himself larger. When he realized what he was doing, he deflated. “What, a bloke can’t go grocery shopping?”

            Even though Eggsy couldn’t see Harry’s eyes, he got the distinct feeling he was being glared at.

            “I know you’re following me,” Harry said. “And I want to be very clear, I don’t need a baby sitter, despite what Roxanne seems to believe.”

            “I’m not following you, swear down,” Eggsy said, hands in the air in surrender. When it occurred to him again that Harry couldn’t seem the gesture, he dropped his hands. “Just fancied something to eat.”

            Harry let out a long sigh through his nose and tipped his head in the direction he’d been walking. “Well, come along then. You can walk beside me, instead of creeping along like some kind of stalker.”

            Eggsy flushed. “I wasn’t—”

            “You were.” Harry uncrossed his arms and set his walking stick back against the ground. “Now, do keep up.”

            Eggsy bit his bottom lip and followed Harry, this time walking beside him.

            Now that Harry wasn’t lurking in the shadows of his doorway, Eggsy could get a good look at him. Pale threads of silver were shot through his hair at the temples, and there was the slightest softness to his jawline, but otherwise for a man in his fifties, Harry was right fit. His shoulders filled out his trench coat, and his legs stretched for miles. For every step Harry took, Eggsy took two.

            Harry didn’t say anything along the walk to the shop, and Eggsy didn’t press his luck by forcing a conversation. When they arrived at the Mark and Spencer, Harry took a basket and said, “I suppose we can shop together. That is, unless you wished to skulk around here as well.”

            “I wasn’t skulking,” Eggsy grumbled, heat rushing up his neck. “And yeah, that’s fine.”

            Shit. Eggsy didn’t really want to buy anything. He didn’t have the _money_ to buy anything. He wasn’t about to admit that though and blow his whole cover.

            “Of course. You were merely hiding behind corners and lamp posts because that’s a perfectly normal way to walk,” Harry said and headed into the store.

            Eggsy glared at his back and hurried to keep up. “How do you know I was doing that. You’re fucking blind.”

            Shite. He wasn’t supposed to say that, was he?

            “Exactly, blind, not deaf. I could hear your cocky gate a mile away,” Harry said, tapping his cane against the side of Eggsy’s leg. “And you practically came running out of the front door as soon as I did.”

            Eggsy scowled. “Well, you left so suddenly—”

            “So, you were following me,” Harry stated. His smile wasn’t necessary victorious, but rather satisfied, reminding Eggsy of a villain in a Bond movie who’d finally captured the double-o.

            “I—well—” God dammit. “Yeah, whatever.”

            “Eloquent,” Harry praised mockingly.

            If Eggsy was a pettier person, he’d kick that stupid walking stick out from under Harry. Instead he sighed and trudged along Harry, watching him walk through the aisles. He picked up a package of crisps and some biscuits, but otherwise didn’t seem interested in doing any shopping. Eggsy’s scowl deepened as they made their loop around the store and came to the cash register.

            As soon as they were back outside, Eggsy accused, “You didn’t need to go shopping.”

            Harry tipped his head to the side. Eggsy hated that he couldn’t see his eyes, it made reading his expression harder.

            “I don’t know what you mean,” Harry stated dryly.

            “Really? You don’t? Do you even know what you bought?” Eggsy asked.

            “Again, blind, not stupid,” Harry said.

            Eggsy flushed. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

            He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and trailed behind him, feeling more like a despondent child following his parent.

            “I can tell by the feel,” Harry said after a while.

            “What?”

            “You asked if I knew what I bought, and I do. I bought some chocolate digestives, dark chocolate. And crisps.”

            Eggsy blinked. “Doesn’t mean you needed them. I think you just were fucking with me,” after a pause, he added, “and you didn’t get dark.”

            “I didn’t?” Harry said, pausing. “Bugger.”

            “Serves you right, dragging me out like this.”

            “I did no such thing. You chose to follow me like a nasty cold. I simply exercised my right to go for a stroll.”

            “Nasty cold? Why don’t you tell me really how you feel?” Eggsy said, “You knew I was there, you could have given a heads up.”

            “Why? I don’t need to inform you if I want to go out. Since Roxy hired you, and by the sound of your voice, I think it’s a safe guess that I’m at least twenty years your senior.”

            Eggsy wasn’t going to correct him that it was really thirty.

            “Bruv, if this is going to work, we’re going to have to compromise,” Eggsy said, already exhausted. Last night was the first real sleep he’d gotten in a week, and it hadn’t been enough to get rid of the bags under his eyes.

            Harry let them into his flat. Eggsy kicked off his shoes, ready to crawl back into bed. Harry closed the door and locked it. “I don’t have to do anything. This is my house.”

            Eggsy threw his hands in the air. “You stubborn git.”

            “Is that how you’re supposed to speak with your employer?” Harry said, cocking an eyebrow.

            “You ain’t my employer, Roxy is. And she isn’t here,” Eggsy said. But he did need to curb it. He sighed through his nose. “Look, why don’t I just go clean something. Or I can put those away and start lunch.”

            “No,” Harry said, this time with a bit more of a petulant air, like a child turning his nose up.

            “No? Bruv, that’s what I’m here for. Housekeeper, remember?”

            “I won’t say it again, I can handle it myself.”

            “Then what am I here for?” Eggsy tried to keep his tone level, but he was starting to reach his boiling point. It was like having an argument with a fucking wall. But even walls broke down eventually.

            “I don’t know—you were the one that insisted on loitering on my doorstep,” Harry said. “I don’t need a housekeeper, a babysitter, or whatever else it is that my niece told you to do.”

            “Fine, see if I fucking care,” Eggsy shouted and stormed upstairs.

            “Where are you going?” Harry shouted after him.

            “To my room!”

            “You don’t have a room!”

            Eggsy leaned over the railing. “As long as Roxy is paying me to be here, I do. So get fucking used to it bruv.”

            Harry threw his hands up with a strained sound that was a cross between a scream and a moan of pain. He turned and stomped out of the room.

* * *

            Around dinner time Eggsy crept downstairs. Harry wasn’t there, but his shoes were still by the door, so at least he hadn’t gone off again without telling him. This wasn’t how he imagined things would go. He thought he’d have problems in the beginning, but he hadn’t planned on an all-out war with Harry.

            There was a moment he considered calling Roxy. He even reached for his phone. But as he pulled up her number, his thumb hesitated. Throwing in the towel now meant going back to Dean. It meant admitting defeat. It wasn’t simply giving up. It was Eggsy resigning himself and those he loves to the life they’re in now, a life that he couldn’t do anymore.

            He wasn’t going to do that.

            Driven by hunger pangs, Eggsy started to fix dinner. He banged pots and pans unnecessarily in an attempt to grab Harry’s attention, but Harry never came downstairs.

            He made one of the few dishes he knew how to cook: spaghetti and meatballs. Every now and then as he stirred the pot of sauce, he looked over his shoulder to the door. He wasn’t really surprised Harry didn’t come down. It was clear Eggsy wasn’t welcome, but for whatever reason, Harry hadn’t kicked him out yet.

            When the food was finished, Eggsy went to the foot of the stairs and called, “Dinner is ready.”

            No response.

            He sighed and returned to the dining table. He waited five minutes, his stomach growling the entire time in protest, before finally digging in. He’d be the first to admit he wasn’t the greatest chef in the world, but that never mattered when you’re hungry enough.

            Silence enveloped the room with a loud ringing. The only break was the scrape of Eggsy’s utensils against the plate and the ticking of a clock he couldn’t find. He twirled pasta on his fork and shoved a bite into his mouth. Pasta dripped back down onto the plate in red splatters.

            Harry, like the rest of his house, kept the room cluttered. Every space on the wall was filled with paintings and portraits and photographs. Sketches of dogs were placed next to watercolor landscapes. It was like the walls of the dining room were one giant game of Tetris.

            Did James decorate? Eggsy searched amongst the plethora of frames for any photograph of Harry and James, or even just James, but there were none among them. Eggsy supposed that was because Harry would never see them, so there was no point.

            Eggsy’s memory of James was foggy. He’d only met him a handful of times as a boy during piano practice. The most he could recall were loud patterns and an infectious laugh that made his stomach warm.

            Back then the world had seemed so grand. Everything had existed in a bright bubble. He couldn’t see beyond his own infiniteness.

            At seven, nothing mattered more than his fingers against the smooth keys of the piano. At seven, he didn’t know the world could be broken. He didn’t know about the grayness and the hurt and the loneliness that came with life.

            Now he ate his dinners alone.

            Eggsy glanced at the empty chair at the head of the table and sighed. He polished off his meal, then packed everything up and washed the dishes. He slipped a plate of spaghetti wrapped in tin foil into the fridge.

            “Food is in the fridge if you want it,” Eggsy called up to Harry when he finished. He didn’t get a response.

            Eggsy went upstairs to shower, then fiddled around in his room. He hadn’t brought much with him beyond clothes and a phone charger. He texted with Brandon for a while, checked to see how Jamal and Ryan were, and considered shooting Tilde a message.

            After an hour of being cooped in his room, he wandered back downstairs. Harry didn’t have a television, so Eggsy couldn’t watch that. There were stacks of books though on the piano.

            Eggsy walked over and picked one up to investigate. Each one was written in braille.

            “Great,” Eggsy sighed. He set the book down.

            His gaze caught on the piano. A thin layer of dust covered it under the piles of books. Eggsy glanced over his shoulder towards the stairs. Harry still hadn’t come out of his room or office—Eggsy honestly wasn’t sure which one he was in.

            His fingers twitched, a slow itch taking over him from being near a piano. With nothing else to do, Eggsy cleaned away the stacks of books. He set them against the wall near the piano, out of the way so Harry wouldn’t trip over them. When he finished clearing the books, he grabbed a duster and some polish and cleaned the piano.

            Now that the grime was wiped off and the wood polished to a shine, the piano was gorgeous. An old upright Steinway. Based on the style, he dated it from at least the 1920s. He’d seen a similar one at the piano shop a year ago. Eggsy had gone in to lust after it, but as soon as he’d seen the whopping price tag of nearly thirty-thousand pounds, he’d slowly backed out of the store, afraid to even breathe on the piano.

Eggsy ran his hand down the side, tracing the grain of the bright cherry wood with the pads of his fingers. There were a few scrapes, especially on the corners, but otherwise it was in perfect condition.

He took a seat, sliding his hand over the keyboard lid. Mrs. Baldwin’s upright was nice, but it couldn’t compare to a classic like this. How could Harry leave her buried under so many books?

“It’s okay,” Eggsy said reverently. “You don’t have to be hidden anymore.”

He lifted the lid, revealing the ivory keys. For a moment, he just stared at them, his breath hitched.

A calm washed over him as he let his fingers settle onto the keys. He drew in a deep breath, and on the exhale, he depressed his fingers, testing the sound to see if the piano was still tuned. It released a lovely sound, and a smile overtook Eggsy.

The familiarity of playing was like coming home. He bowed his head, letting his attention slip away, until all that mattered in the world was the feel of his fingers gliding over the smooth ivory of the keys. He started to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsTQjB1f4-A).

He still remembered what it was like to play for his parents. The pride that had shone in their eyes as he performed at recitals. Now he was lucky if Mrs. Baldwin hadn’t fallen asleep.

Eggsy let his body flow with the music, his hands gliding along the keys, as if he had become an extension of the piano.

He lost himself to the music, to the somber notes that flowed from him as if it were his mourning song. An aching warmth sat on his chest, and he was overcome with a sense of loss.

Everything narrowed to that throbbing longing in his heart. He wanted to capture the moment, to remain on this island he built for himself.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked sharply from behind him.

Eggsy abruptly stopped playing and twisted around. “I, uh—”

“Who said you could touch that?” Harry demanded. His hands were clenched at his side, and for a moment Eggsy actually thought he might strike him.

“I’m sorry,” Eggsy blurted out reflexively. “I saw it, and I just thought—”

“Well you were wrong,” Harry cut him off. “Don’t.”

Eggsy narrowed his eyes and set his jaw in a defiant line. “Look, I didn’t mean nothing by it. You don’t have to get all pissy.”

“No one gave you permission to touch it,” Harry continued, as if he hadn’t heard Eggsy. There was the slightest tremor to his voice. “Don’t touch what isn’t yours.”

Eggsy searched his face, realizing that it wasn’t anger twisting Harry’s visage, but a vicious sorrow. Eggsy swallowed and closed the lid. “I, uh… yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Just go to your room,” Harry said, deflating in front of Eggsy.

Eggsy stood, his anger blown out of him. “There’s food in the fridge.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He turned away and walked towards the kitchen. Eggsy watched him go, guilt curling in his gut. He glanced longingly at the piano one last time before retreating to his room.

 


	2. When Hearts Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy and Harry slowly begin to understand each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of suicide and domestic abuse.
> 
> Self-betaed, so sorry for any mistakes I missed.
> 
> Song embedded into text at end.

Soap suds circled his wrists in glistening bracelets as he scrubbed at the breakfast plates. Harry hadn’t come downstairs when he called for him that morning, not that Eggsy expected him to. A yawning sense of defeat opened in his stomach. If things continued this way, what would Roxy say? Harry made it clear he wasn’t welcome, even if he hadn’t gone as far as kicking him out. That was only a matter of time though, wasn’t it?

            He’d been sure Harry would turn him out last night. Quiet rage had burned behind his eyes. Eggsy set the damp flannel on the divider in the sink and rinsed the soapy plate under the faucet.

            Even after he’d gone to bed, Eggsy could still feel keys beneath his fingers, the way they gave to the slight pressure, the harmonic note resounding after, filling the space around him. His dreams were filled with music.

            If he could, he wouldn’t wake up.

            “Eggsy,” Harry said suddenly.

            The plate slipped from Eggsy’s fingers and splashed into the water. “Shite.” Eggsy shook his damp hands and turned to Harry. “Christ, I’m going to have to get you a bell.”

            “I’m not a cat,” Harry said.

            “You sure? Because you’re as finnicky and cantankerous as one, and you move like a fucking ghost through this house,” Eggsy said. He snatched the towel and dried his hands. “What did you need? Do you want me to fix you some food?”

            “No, I’m not hungry,” Harry said.

            “You didn’t eat breakfast,” Eggsy said. “And you never came down for dinner.”

            “I didn’t realize monitoring my eating habits was one of your duties,” Harry snapped.

            Eggsy bit the inside of his cheek and held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not trying to start a fight, swear down. I just was worried.”

            All the anger in Harry deflated, like the air going out of a balloon. He slumped his shoulders and held out a piece a paper Eggsy hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I know,” Harry said. “Here.”

            “What’s this?” Eggsy asked. He threw the towel over his shoulder and accepted the paper. It was a typed list of various tasks. Eggsy looked it over, then glanced back at Harry. “Are… are these chores?”

            Harry shifted from foot to foot, giving the sleeve of his soft oatmeal cardigan a tug. “I suppose… regulating a few tasks to you wouldn’t be so bad,” Harry said. “If you plan to stay here, you might as well earn your keep.”

            “How kind of you,” Eggsy said and pocketed the list.

            Neither said anything for a while. They stood in the kitchen, the faucet running in the background, and waited. For what, Eggsy wasn’t sure. He watched Harry, and even though Harry didn’t see him, Eggsy could feel him watching him—through the air and the sound and the silence that grew.

            “Go sit down,” Eggsy ordered.

            “Why?” Harry asked distrustfully.

            “Because I’m going to feed you, you berk. No arguing. Go, sit.”

            Harry let out a long-suffering sigh, but returned to the dining room. Eggsy quickly, before Harry changed his mind, whipped up some fresh eggs and toast. He brought the plate out and set it in front of Harry with some silverware.

            “Here you go,” Eggsy said as he took the seat at Harry’s right.

            “Thank you,” Harry said and started to eat. After a few bites, he murmured, “This is good.”

            “Thanks,” Eggsy said. “I’m not the worst cook, though I won’t be winning any Michelin stars. But I learned a thing or two.”

            He didn’t say that he had to, that if he didn’t, all he’d eat were cans of pasta and cups of noodles. His mum stopped cooking for him long before Dean even arrived. There was no time, not when she was working two, sometimes three, jobs.

            Harry finished his eggs and toast. Pride swelled in Eggsy’s chest as a contented expression fell over him. There was even the start of a smile shaping the corners of Harry’s elegant mouth.

            Eggsy stood and cleared Harry’s plate. He brought it into the kitchen and set it into the soapy water. “Hey Harry,” Eggsy called as he rinsed off his plate again and started to wash Harry’s.

            “Yes?” Harry said from the dining room.

            “I’ve been wondering.”

            “If you need the migraine medicine, it’s upstairs in the hall closet,” Harry said.

            Eggsy froze, his mind shorting out for a second. Did Harry just make a joke? Eggsy blinked, processing what he said. Then he realized the insinuation and rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha. Comedy hour here, is it?” He snorted, smiling nonetheless. “Not what I wanted to know. I was wondering about the piano. How come it was buried? If you like, I can clean it up a bit more. Really get it shining. And put those books away for you.”

            “No,” Harry deadpanned.

            Eggsy stopped rinsing the plate and looked over his shoulder towards the dining room. The humor that had warmed Harry’s caramel timber moments ago was leeched away, leaving a cold, bitter note, like day old coffee.

            “I… uh,” Eggsy said, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong.

            “Don’t touch the piano,” Harry ordered briskly. “And I don’t want to discuss it anymore. Do not touch it, understood?”

            Eggsy didn’t answer right away, gaping at the doorway. When he didn’t give a response, Harry pressed sharply, “Understood?”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy breathed, a whip-crack fear seizing his heart briefly at the thunderclap of Harry’s voice. Louder, he repeated, “Yeah.”

            “Good,” Harry said. The dining room chair scraped against the floor. “Thank you for breakfast.”

            Eggsy stood there, listening to Harry’s retreating steps. He let out a breath and sagged against the counter.

            “Christ,” Eggsy whispered.

            Maneuvering Harry’s mood swings was like sweeping for landmines. He shook his head and turned back to the sink, finishing the dishes.

* * *

            Roxy came by two days later. She stood in the doorway, haggard and clutching onto a carry-on bag. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, the typical graceful veneer stripped away. She smoothed down her hair with a swipe of her hand and asked, “Mind putting on a pot of coffee?”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy said, taking a hesitant step back, afraid to turn away even for a moment in case she toppled over. “Christ, have you slept?”

            She laughed hollowly. “I think on the plane.”

            “You think?” Eggsy asked.

            Roxy shrugged. Eggsy didn’t press. He went into the kitchen to fix a pot of coffee and she followed him, dropping her bag by the door.

            “I see he hasn’t kicked you out,” Roxy said. She leaned against the counter, watching Eggsy as he navigated the kitchen. “So, things are working out?”

             Eggsy paused in pouring the coffee grounds. “I don’t know if I’d say that, but we’ve seemed to come to some kind of understanding. Maybe it’s more of a stalemate.”

            “You’re staying here, so that seems to be some kind of compromise.”

            “I suppose.” Eggsy finished preparing the coffee maker and hit the switch. It immediately began to brew. “Here, I’ll fix you something to eat. Go sit in the dining room. Do you want me to get Harry?”

            “Where is he?” Roxy asked, already making her way towards the adjoining dining room.

            “In his office, where he always is,” Eggsy said.

            Over the last two days, while Harry had relinquished some control and allowed Eggsy to do his job, he still made it clear he disapproved of Eggsy’s presence. He didn’t come down for dinner. He seldom left his office. It almost felt like Eggsy lived alone. Harry had become the creak in the floorboards and the rattle in the pipes. A presence that was felt, was known, but wasn’t _there_.

            Eggsy fixed three plates of sandwiches and crisps and delivered them to the table. Roxy rested her chin in her hand, her body slumped over the table, eyes half-closed.

            “Are you sure you want to stay? You’re ready to face plant that sandwich,” Eggsy said, nodding to the plate he slipped in front of her.

            She snorted and straightened. “I’m fine. I’d like to get this over before I go home.”

            Anxiety threaded up Eggsy’s ribcage, weaving a path to his fluttering heart. He nodded stiffly and went upstairs to Harry’s office.

            “Harry?” Eggsy called, knocking on the door. When he didn’t get a response, he tested the knob. It was locked. He sighed and knocked again. “I made lunch. Roxy is here too, she said she wanted to speak with you.”

            No response. Eggsy would have feared Harry had died without him knowing it, if it weren’t for the shifting shadow under the slit of the door. Eggsy shook his head and returned downstairs.

            “He’ll be here in a moment. I think.”

            Harry did come down, but it wasn’t for another ten minutes. Eggsy was already halfway through his sandwich. Roxy nursed a cup of steaming coffee. She glanced up from the mug to Harry, who froze mid step. He couldn’t know that she was glaring knives sharp enough to flay him open, but maybe he sensed the withering energy radiating from her, as black as the coffee clutched in her hands.

            “Roxy, darling,” Harry said and found his way to the head of the table. He gracefully sunk into the seat and reached out to trace the rim of the plate. Roxy didn’t respond immediately, and Harry’s posture stiffened. “Was your trip well?”

            “Cut the bull crap Harry,” Roxy snapped and plonked her mug down.

            Eggsy winced and started to stand. “Should I—”

            “Sit,” Roxy ordered with a sharp point. Eggsy sat back down.

            “You needn’t worry Eggsy, her bark is greater than her bite,” Harry said dryly. He plucked a crisp from the plate and ate it.

            “Harry,” Roxy warned.

            Harry let out a long suffering sigh through his nose. “What is it Roxy? Have you come to reprimand me again, like an old schoolmarm? I think you forget who the elder is.”

            “That’s because you aren’t acting your age, you’re acting like a spoiled four-year-old throwing a tantrum,” Roxy said. “I thought we made it clear what would happen before I left.”

            “No, you told me what would happen. I never agreed to it,” Harry said.

            Eggsy watched them play verbal tennis, his appetite gone and the festering anxiety growing uncomfortably large in his stomach.

            “I am not a child, despite what you believe,” Harry continued, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t need a caretaker, or housekeeper, or guardian, or whatever else you feel Mr. Unwin should do.”

            “You were mugged,” Roxy said.

            “Yes, I was. And hundreds of other Londoners have been mugged too,” Harry said. “And don’t say, ‘but they weren’t blind’. It’s beneath the both of us.”

            Roxy flushed and clenched her hand on top of the table. Her sandwich and crisps were picked over. She pressed her mouth into a thin line. “How about, you tried to kill yourself.”

            Eggsy jerked his head in Harry’s direction. Harry stiffened, the color draining from his face. The cold stony expression he’d grown used to seeing Harry wear splintered, revealing spider-cracks of sorrow. Harry swallowed thickly.

            “You knew about that?” Harry whispered.

            “Merlin told me that night,” Roxy said, and despite the steady cadence of her hard voice, her hand trembled. “He told me about how he came over and found you in a pool of your own vomit. How the doctors had to pump your stomach.” She cocked her head to the side. “What was the excuse you gave me while you were held in psych? That you’d gone for a holiday to the country?”

            “Roxy…” Harry whispered.

            “I miss him too,” Roxy croaked. She never looked away from Harry, even when he turned his head in shame. “I miss him every day. He raised me. You both did. And I won’t lose another uncle.”

            “Darling, I’m not—” Harry started.

            “Harry, you’re already begun slipping away. You started the moment you got the phone call.”

            Harry sucked in a sharp breath. Tears rimmed his eyes, and Eggsy realized, tears rimmed his own.

            “You’re right, you aren’t a child,” Roxy championed on, her voice quavering. “Eggsy isn’t here to hold your hand. He isn’t here to be a caregiver. I’m not saying you aren’t capable of living on your own. But right now, you need help. You need someone, not only to pick up the slack, but to be here so the house isn’t so empty.”

            Tension had swept through them in a broiling black cloud, and as swiftly as it blew in, it cleared. Harry slumped in his chair with a nod. “Okay,” Harry conceded softly.

            “Thank you,” Roxy whispered and discretely turned her head to swipe a tear from her cheek.

            Eggsy cleared his throat and abruptly stood. “How about some biscuits?” Eggsy suggested, already heading into the kitchen.

            some, but I can’t stay,” Roxy said. Eggsy paused and turned around. She stood and set her napkin onto the table. “Thank you for lunch Eggsy, it was delicious.”

            “Yeah, uh… no problem.” He stood uselessly in the threshold, watching.

            Roxy offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and came around to Harry. She gingerly set her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “I love you Harry, remember that.”

            Harry reached up and patted her hand. “And I you.”

            “I’ll be in touch, okay?” Roxy said when she reached the door. Eggsy showed her out. Before she left, she clutched Eggsy’s wrist. “Look after him. I know he can be difficult, but he’s a good man. And he needs someone.”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy said, searching her face. “Of course.”

            “And if he’s an arse, just call me and I’ll come over to straighten him out,” She said, offering a real smile this time.

            Eggsy snorted. “He isn’t that bad.”

            “Thank you Eggsy, really.”

            “It’s no problem Rox. Now go, you need rest,” Eggsy said.

            She nodded and left. Eggsy watched her until she turned the corner, then shut the door and returned to the dining room. Harry remained at the head of the table, picking at his sandwich.

            “How about those biscuits?” Eggsy suggested, trying to break the tension left.

            Harry huffed out a weak laugh and Eggsy took that as a yes.

* * *

            A crash came from another room, followed by Harry shouting, “Fuck!”

            Eggsy dropped the vacuum and rushed into the room. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

            Harry pushed himself up, a small cut on the top of his forehead. Eggsy blanched and moved to help him stand, only to be brushed off with a sharp, “Get off!”

            It had been a week since Roxy’s visit and they’d slowly begun to build a tenuous understanding of one another. Harry no longer sequestered himself in his bedroom, and while things still hadn’t become ideal, they were leaps and bounds better than before.

            At least, until now. Eggsy’s stomach dropped out and he stood uselessly to the side. “What happened?”

            “I fell, what does it bloody look like?” Harry said, holding his hands out as he felt where he was going. Eggsy hovered along the peripheral, hands out in case Harry started to fall again. Harry found his bearings and navigated to the couch.

            “Let me get the first aid kit,” Eggsy said. He vanished into the downstairs bathroom and dug out the kit. He returned to Harry and crouched in front of him. “Hold still.”

            Eggsy pulled out a cotton cloth and dabbed at the blood. Harry jerked at the first touch, his face scrunching up.

            “You moved something,” Harry accused.

            “I did—” Eggsy started, but stopped halfway. Shit, he did while he was cleaning. But he moved it back he thought. “I’m sorry. I must not have put it back right.”

            “Clearly,” Harry said dryly.

            Eggsy scowled. He set the cloth down and got a plaster and antiseptic cream. He put some of the cream on the wound. “You don’t have to be an arse. It was an honest mistake.”

            “A mistake that can get me seriously injured,” Harry said, his tone never giving. “I know every square inch of this house. It’s how I can move around without my cane. If you move something, it changes everything.”

            “I said I was sorry,” Eggsy said, guilt eating away at his stomach. He smoothed the plaster on and stood. He set his jaw into a defiant line and snapped. “If you showed me how you liked things done, maybe I wouldn’t have made the mistake. I’m fucking trying here.”

            Harry flushed and Eggsy braced himself for a sharp response. Just because things had begun to get better, didn’t mean they were perfect, and Harry still seemed ready to throw down at the drop of a hatch.

            Eggsy snatched up the first aid kit and said, “Forget it. I’ll clean up the mess and fix it.”

            He put the kit away and returned to the living room. Harry had knocked over a vase during his fall and now there were pieces of porcelain scattered on the floor. The end table was overturned.

            Harry remained on the couch as Eggsy collected up the larger pieces and vacuumed the smaller ones. He picked up the table and studied the chair it been next to, trying to gauge where it properly went.

            “Two inches out from the chair, one from the wall,” Harry instructed gently.

            Eggsy blinked and glanced back at Harry. He positioned the table exactly how Harry told him to. He stepped away and observed his work. “Thank you.”

            “You’re right, you didn’t know,” Harry said carefully, like he was trying to pick his way through a foreign language. “I’m sorry. I know… you’re trying. Perhaps I can work a bit more with you, so this won’t happen again.”

            Eggsy blinked and turned to face Harry. The wild anger that had flared inside him in defiance to his guilt immediately wilted. Harry sat on the couch, plaster on his forehead, and stared unseeingly ahead. They hadn’t spoken about what Roxy had said. It lingered around them, a ghost that no one wanted to acknowledge.

            It wasn’t Eggsy’s place to bring it up, and it was clear Harry was embarrassed.

            But seeing Harry now, Eggsy realized he lived with a broken man. He wasn’t broken because of he was sightless. No, he’d been broken by grief and tragedy. He’d been broken by the world the same way Eggsy had, crippled by circumstance and reality.

            If this was to work, Eggsy would need to control his own emotions.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Eggsy said, gentler. “We’ll get this figured out.”

            Harry nodded, offering for the first time a weak smile.

* * *

            **How r things going w/ the job?** Brandon texted. With everything that had been going on, Eggsy hadn’t had time to see any of his friends. Part of it was because he was hesitant to leave Harry when they’d finally established a delicate friendship, but Eggsy also didn’t want to tempt fate by running into Dean or any of his mutts.

            Eggsy sent a text back. **_Good. Keeps me busy. How r things there?_**

**Ryan n his grl r fighting again. Jamal is busy working. Liam is Liam.**

Eggsy snorted. It was almost midnight. The comforter was scrunched at his waist, one leg propped on his knee. He held his phone up, the blue glow of the screen the only light in his room.

            Eggsy started typing, but three dots appeared signaling another text from Brandon. He stopped and waited.

            **Things r boring w/ out u.**

Eggsy bit his bottom lip. He hated the thought of abandoning his mates. But had he? It was only temporary. Only until… when?

            Eggsy didn’t know when this would be over. When Harry was better?

            How was that defined?

            Eggsy shook his head and typed a response.

            **_Dean still looking 4 me?_**

**No. Business picked up I think. Ur mum is good, I chked on her.**

Eggsy smiled. **_Thnx bruv. I owe u._**

**** **Nah bruv, it’s what mates r4.**

They talked for another hour, until Eggsy’s eyes grew heavy and he finally turned in. In the morning, Harry was awake before Eggsy.

            “I need to go out to run errands,” Harry announced. “Would you like to join me? We could get breakfast on the way.”

            Eggsy blinked and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Harry had forgone his usual cardigan and pressed pants for a bespoke suit that shaped him nicely. For the first time Eggsy realized how fit Harry was.

            “Uh,” Eggsy stammered. “Yeah, sure. Let me get dressed.”

            He returned to his room, mind still reeling. When had Harry gotten so sexy? Sure, he’d always been handsome. But it had been a homely attractiveness. And honestly, Eggsy had been so busy dodging Harry’s moods that he hadn’t had time to considered how good he looked.

            “Damn,” Eggsy murmured to himself as he dug through his freshly laundered clothes and selected his nicest jeans and polo. Harry had filled out that suit like it been poured onto him. His waist was snatched.

            Heat rushed up Eggsy’s neck. Did he just think that? He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts.

            No.

            Absolutely not.

            Maybe Eggsy should get out, go see his mates. Find some bird or bloke for the night. He could reach out to Tilde again.

            Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t. Tilde was a one-time thing out of desperation. And he didn’t want to go find someone. He was content where he was, even if the company kept was cantankerous and prone to knee-twitching mood swings.

            Eggsy dressed and returned downstairs to Harry, who waited by the door. They left, Harry with his cane, and Eggsy beside him. Harry strolled silently down the sidewalk with the confidence of a king walking through his castle. Eggsy watched him from the corner of his eye, quietly chewing on his inner cheek.

            “Stop it,” Harry said five minutes into their walk. “And do try to keep up, you aren’t stalking me anymore.”

            “I never stalked you,” Eggsy said, but picked up his pace so he was no longer lagging two steps behind. “And I’m not doing anything.”

            “I can feel your eyes on me. If you have something to say, just say it,” Harry stated and rounded the corner.

            Eggsy didn’t comment, mostly because he didn’t have anything to say. Harry seemed fine with this—even pleased that they lapsed back into silence—and guided them down the street. Eggsy wasn’t sure how he knew where he was going. Perhaps it was like at home, where he counted the steps and mapped out the city. Did that mean small changes could disrupt his path, the same way a rock could change the flow of a river?

            Harry came to a stop in front of a café and lifted his head, reminding Eggsy vaguely of a dog scenting the air. Harry smiled and said, “Come along Eggsy.”

            “Where are we?” He asked, following Harry in.

            “What does the sign say?” Harry asked.

            Eggsy looked and grumbled, “Café Rose.”

            “Speak up dear boy, a gentleman doesn’t grumble or mutter,” Harry said.

            “Do I look like a gentleman?” Eggsy said, immediately snapping his mouth shut. Fuck. Way to insert his foot into his mouth. He probably shoved it in there far enough he could start hopping on it.

            “I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t the foggiest idea of what you look like,” Harry said, and to Eggsy’s surprise, he smiled.

            Eggsy blinked and rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… sorry.”

            “Why? It’s a common enough turn of phrase. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Now, why don’t we grab a table and have some breakfast?”

            Eggsy still felt guilty, but if Harry wasn’t upset, he wasn’t going to push his luck. They found a table the window and a waitress came to take their orders. Harry ordered a parfait and croissant. Eggsy scoured the menu for the cheapest option, a bit nauseated by the steep price tag that came with the meals.

            “I’m treating,” Harry said.

            Eggsy glanced at him. “You don’t—”

            “It would be rude to refuse,” Harry said.

            “Okay,” Eggsy conceded and ordered the pancakes, along with a coffee.

            Sunlight streamed in from the window and warmed the side of Eggsy’s face. He looked to Harry, who turned to face the window, his head once more lifted against the sun. There was a calm over him, a gentle slump to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

            Silver threads glimmered in the lambent glow. Eggsy never noticed them before. Or how Harry’s eyelashes were so long, framing his milky eyes and kissing his cheeks with each blink.

            A queer sensation pooled in Eggsy’s stomach. He frowned and looked away, to anywhere else but Harry. The waitress returned with their drinks, and Eggsy engulfed himself in the process of sweetening his coffee and drinking it.

            “How do you and Roxy know each other?” Harry asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them.

            “Piano lessons. We used to go together,” Eggsy said. “James brought her.” He paused, then added quickly, “I’m sorry, by the way. About James.”

            Harry traced the rim of his mug with his fingers. “Thank you.”

            Eggsy didn’t know if that was the appropriate thing to do, and as the silence lapsed back over, the more he grew to regret his words. He never knew what was the right thing with Harry.

            “Do you still go?” Harry asked suddenly.

            “Huh?”

            “To piano lessons.”

            That gave Eggsy a pause. He hadn’t thought Harry would mention the piano again, not after the thorough talking down to he’d received.

            “No. Mum couldn’t afford lessons when I was a kid,” Eggsy said, cheeks warming at the confession. “Kept up a bit at my neighbor’s house, but don’t get to play like I want to.”

            He dropped his gaze to his coffee, watching his desaturated reflection. “I miss it, honestly. Playing… well… playing the piano had been something else. It had been _mine_. It had been what I wanted to do, more than anything. I dreamed about becoming a pianist, you know?”

            Eggsy couldn’t help but laugh derisively at his childish whimsies.

            Harry didn’t respond and Eggsy looked up to meet his gaze, and if Eggsy didn’t know better, he’d swear Harry could see him, could see past the walls and layers of flesh and bone, down to his aching soul.

            Eggsy shrugged and laughed it off. “Stupid. Don’t matter now. Can’t exactly put food on the table playing the piano.”

            “I did,” Harry said. He didn’t expand, instead leaning back in his chair as the waitress came by to deliver their food.

            She set a plate of three fluffy pancakes in front of Eggsy. They were nearly the size of manhole covers. Butter and syrup covered them, along with a large dollop of whipped cream and piles of mixed fruit. Eggsy’s mouth filled with saliva as he looked the pancakes over, his stomach giving an approving growl.

            He cut into the pancakes and shoved the large bite into his mouth. Before he could stop it, a nearly pornographic moan escaped him. “Fuck, these are good.”

            Harry coughed in his hands. Eggsy looked at him. Was his face red? The queer sensation returned, turning over the bite of pancakes he just ate. He took a smaller bite to distract himself.

            “I’m glad you like it,” Harry mumbled, taking a rather dainty bite of parfait.

            Desperate for the attention to be pulled away, Eggsy asked, “What do you mean you ‘I did’?”

            “I’m a pianist,” Harry said. “Or I was, until…”

            He finished the sentence with a bite of food. Eggsy swallowed his own mouthful, the syrup ashy and thick against his throat.

            “I’m sorry,” Eggsy whispered again, as if apologizing could somehow bring James back.

            “It wasn’t just because of James,” Harry said. He broke a piece of buttery croissant off but didn’t eat it. “My vision had only just recently fully gone at the time. The culmination was… well, I needed a break.”

            “You could see before?” Eggsy asked.

            Harry continued to break his croissant into pieces, turning it into a pile of crumbs. A sad smile twisted his mouth. He dusted his fingers off and returned to his parfait. “After this we’ll go to the shop.”

            Eggsy’s neck hurt from the whiplash speed the subject changed. He nodded and returned to eating his pancakes.

* * *

            That night, after dinner, Eggsy retired to his room. He pulled up google on his phone and typed in Harry’s name, shocked to find so much on him. A website, a Wikipedia page, even pages of Youtube videos, and a Spotify page.

            Harry had been the real thing. The one thing Eggsy had wanted to be more than anything in the world. He’d won awards. Played concerts. Traveled the world. He’d done it all, and now, he just _didn’t_ , and a part of Eggsy hated him for it.

            It was selfish and cruel, to hold Harry’s tragedies against him. But that part of him, the part that had let go of so many dreams, had sacrificed every piece of himself, so others could thrive, wanted what Harry so easily gave up.

            Eggsy dug out his headphones and pulled up a video of Harry playing at the Konzerthaus Berlin. He curled up on his bed, knees tugged to his chest, and his phone clutched between his hands. His thumb hovered over the play button, but he didn’t click it.

            Today, between the awkward pauses and lingering sadness, Eggsy had caught glimpses of soft smiles. There had been sun on their faces. The vision of Harry outlined in sunlight, face warm and inviting, was imprinted on the back of Eggsy’s eye lids.

            He dropped his phone with a sigh, pulling his earbuds out.

            “Shite,” Eggsy whispered.

            What was going on with him? Maybe he was coming down with something. A bug. That had to be it.

            “Eggsy,” Harry called and Eggsy’s stomach did a little flip.

            He climbed off the bed and went downstairs. “Yeah?”

            “Come here for a moment, I wanted to speak to you,” Harry said.

            “Did I do something wrong?” Eggsy asked, glancing around the room to see if there was something he moved by mistake.

            “No,” Harry said and patted the seat beside him on the couch. “Come here dear boy.”

            Eggsy’s stomach gave another small flip at the endearment. When had Harry started to refer him as that? Eggsy took a seat, back stiff.

            “I suppose I should just say it,” Harry said. “I’ve been thinking, and seeing as how I’m not using it, and you seem to enjoy it… perhaps… it wouldn’t be so bad for you to use the piano.”

            Eggsy blinked slowly, his mind scrambling to catch up with what Harry said. “What?”

            “You can use the piano, that is, as long as you don’t become a nuisance with it,” Harry said.

            “Really? You don’t mind?” Eggsy practically vibrated in his seat.

            Harry nodded, and while there was a tightness around his eyes, he smiled. “Yes. Someone should play it, and I won’t be.”

            Before Eggsy could stop himself, he threw his arms around Harry and hugged him tight. “Thank you,” Eggsy whispered into the curve of his neck.

            Harry stiffened beneath his arms. “I… yes, you’re welcome.” Harry awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.

            Eggsy’s face lit up like a Christmas light. He jerked back. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

            That was the first time they truly touched.

            Eggsy could still feel the weight of Harry in his arms. The heat of his body next to his own.

            “Quite all right,” Harry said, still sitting stiffly beside Eggsy. Neither spoke. Eggsy looked everywhere but Harry. After a long pause, as Eggsy gathered the courage to flee to his room, Harry asked, “May… I touch your face?”

            “I… sure, yeah. Yeah, that’s fine,” Eggsy said. He shifted to face Harry, their knees practically touching.

            Harry didn’t reach up immediately. His hands twitched in his lap, and Eggsy waited, every fiber of his body tuned into Harry.

            He reached for Eggsy’s face and gingerly set his fingertips against his cheeks. Eggsy never looked away from Harry, watching the minute changes in his expression, from the parting of his lips, to the flicker of his eyes as he slid his hands along his face. Harry traced the bridge of Eggsy’s nose and the line of his jaw. He smoothed his thumb over his brow bone and along his mouth.

            A shudder raced through Eggsy, chased by a tingling sensation that rushed all over his skin and raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

            As suddenly as it started, it stopped. Harry pulled his hands away and whispered, “Thank you.”

            “You’re… you’re welcome,” Eggsy said.

            Why did he miss the feel of Harry’s hands on his face? The ghosting of heat that mapped across his skin.

            Harry stood and stated, “I’m going to bed. Feel free to play.”

            Eggsy watched him go, his heart lost somewhere in his throat.

* * * *

            A routine built between them. In the mornings Eggsy made breakfast and then cleaned the house. After lunch, Eggsy and Harry would go out for errands or to the library or simply out for coffee, just something to put a break in the monotony of the day, and then at night Eggsy would prepare dinner. It was after dinner that Harry often retreated to his office and Eggsy could play the piano.

            Their day-to-day was simple and ordinary, and there was a grandness to it that Eggsy had never known existed. A life spent never knowing when his next meal would be, wasting hours in the street, or struggling through grueling hours of temporary jobs that asked for more than what they paid, had left Eggsy never knowing what it meant to have a routine.

            He learned in those passing days how to navigate around Harry. How to make sure the furniture always went where it was supposed to. He learned about Harry’s likes and dislikes, the foods he favored, and the small sounds of approval he’d make when Eggsy did something right. Those little noises, the faint moans and hums, the compliments quietly murmured, became Eggsy’s small treasures, something he horded deep within his heart to bask in at night, when the lights had gone out and he was alone in his bed.

            Harry never listened to him play and Eggsy never pressed the subject. As long as he could play, he didn’t care if there was an audience or not.

            A month passed in a blink, and Eggsy almost forgot that life existed beyond Stanhope Mews, beyond the comforting cocoon of Harry’s praise and presence.

            Until his phone rang in the middle of cleaning. He set down the bottle of wood polish and flannel and answered. “Hello?”

            “Eggsy,” His mum gasped, her voice snotty and hoarse. “Oh, thank Christ.”

            “Mum, what’s wrong?”

            “Where have you been?” His mum asked, each word wobbling like it was teetering on the edge.

            “Working,” Eggsy said. “You’ve been getting my money, haven’t you? I gave it to Brandon to give you.”

            “Yeah, yeah, I’ve been getting it,” She said, choking at the end. She shuddered and Eggsy could hear in the background Daisy crying.

            Fear clenched Eggsy’s gut. “Mum, what’s wrong?”

            “Dean found the money. Sent him in a rampage,” Michelle said with another choked sob. “Eggs, I need you to come home. Okay?”

            Eggsy swallowed thickly. “Mum…”

            “I’m not, I’m not saying stay, just, can you come home? There’s something I need to tell you,” Michelle said.

            “Okay,” Eggsy whispered. “Is Dean there now?”

            “No, he went out.”

            “I’m on my way, okay?” Eggsy said. “I’ll be there within the hour.”

            They disconnected and Eggsy pocketed his phone. He put the cleaning supplies away and went upstairs to where Harry sat in his office. He knocked at the door. Eggsy had never been in there. Harry had made it clear he didn’t want Eggsy cleaning it or his bed room, and Eggsy had respected those wishes.

            “Harry, I have to go out for a bit,” Eggsy said. “I should be home tonight to make dinner.”

            After a brief moment, the door opened a crack. Harry stood in the way, blocking Eggsy’s view. “Is everything all right dear boy?”

            A lump formed in Eggsy’s throat, and when he tried to swallow around it, all he felt was raw and sore. “Yeah. My mum just needs to see me. So, I’m going to pop over really quick, okay?”

            “Of course,” Harry said. “Take your time.”

            “Thanks. I’ll stop at the shop on the way home—anything you want for dinner?” Eggsy asked.

            Harry shook his head. “Whatever you like.”

            He closed the door, leaving Eggsy standing alone in the hall.

* * *

Dean wasn’t there when Eggsy got there. Relief didn’t even begin to describe the feeling that washed over him as he stepped into the cramp apartment, hit by the cloying scent of cigarette smoke and ashes. He glanced around the main room, gaze lingering on the overstuffed couch stained with baby vomit and cigarette burns, and along the piles of merch Dean stored there.

            “Eggsy?” His mum called from the back rooms. Daisy had stopped crying.

            She came out, exhaustion and bruises decorating her face instead of makeup. She brushed her knotted hair out of her eyes. “Hey luv,” Michelle said, opening her arms.

Eggsy went to her immediately, drawing her into his embrace, aching on how fragile her bones were beneath his hands.

            “Daisy okay?” Eggsy asked into the top of Michelle’s hair. “Dean didn’t hurt her, right?”

            “No, she’s good babe. Finally got her asleep.”

            “Did Dean take the money?” Eggsy asked.

            Michelle offered a defeated smile in response. Eggsy cursed under his breath. “That bastard.” He pulled his snapback off and carded his hand through his hair. “How much he take?”

            “A couple hundred. I hid the rest,” Michelle said.

            “Good, good,” Eggsy murmured.

It’d only been a month, and Eggsy was hoping to start keeping some of his paycheck, setting it aside to build a nest egg he could use to rent another apartment. But if Dean knew, that meant he’d be keeping an eye out for money. Eggsy needed to revise how he was going to handle this.

“I’ll have Brandon start buying supplies instead of giving you the money, okay?” Eggsy said, already sorting through a new plan of action.

“Eggsy,” Michelle said, but Eggsy continued on, “He’ll get what you need, nappies, milk, food. Just give him a list, okay?”

“Eggsy,” Michelle repeated, grabbing Eggsy hand. She tugged at him until he turned to face her. “Eggsy, I need to tell you something.”

“What?” Eggsy asked, a bit more forcefully than he meant.

“Sit down luv,” Michelle said and directed him to the couch.

He took a seat and couldn’t help but think how it wasn’t like Harry’s couch. It was lumpy and uncomfortable, the seats sagging and the back bulging. It didn’t smell like Harry.

“What is it mum?” Eggsy asked. He brushed his fingers over her bruised face. “He did this, didn’t he?”

Michelle took his hand in both of hers. “I’m pregnant Eggsy.”

“What?” Eggsy whispered, his stomach dropping out from under him. “Pregnant?”

Michelle nodded. “I haven’t told Dean. He doesn’t want any more children.”

He’ll be livid if she tells him. He already hates Daisy. He’s said so a dozen times over. Complained about the crying, the smell, the extra mouth to feed.

“What are you going to do?” Eggsy asked, searching her face.

She stroked the top of his hand with her thumbs, rubbing along the mountain range of knuckles. “I don’t know…”

“Do you want to keep it?” Eggsy asked.

“Yes,” Michelle said, and then, “No.”

“Mum…”

“I don’t know.” She looked at Eggsy. “Does that make me a terrible person?”

“No mum, no,” Eggsy said. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close, crushing her body into his. He wanted to keep her there, to shield her from the world. She didn’t deserve this, this cruel and careless world. “Whatever you want mum, I’ll be there for you. Just tell me what you need.”

Michelle clutched onto him and Eggsy could feel a dampness against the curve of his neck. He nosed at her temple, inhaling the faintness of her perfume. Guilty. She always wore Guilty. It was like she was wrapping herself in her life.

“You’re a good boy, Eggs. Never let anyone tell you otherwise,” Michelle whispered.

He wished it were true. If he was, he’d get her out of there.

“Don’t worry mum,” Eggsy said. “I’m going to take care of this.”

He drew her back, holding her at arm’s length. “But I can’t be here right now. I got a job, a real job. And I’m making good money. If I stay at it, I can get enough to get us out of—”

He snapped his mouth shut as the door opened and Dean stepped in. Dean’s glare immediately snapped to him. His face was ruddy with a mixture of drink and perpetually simmering rage. He slammed the door shut behind him, causing the fixtures on the walls to rattle.

“If it isn’t the prodigal son,” Dean barked. “Come by to check on mummy dearest?”

“Fuck off Dean,” Eggsy said, standing.

Michelle clutched Eggsy’s arm, trying to pull him back down. “Eggsy, no. Leave him be.”

“You do this to her?” Eggsy gestured to his mum face. “You’re a real big man, beating up a woman, aren’t you?”

“Wot’s this? Got a pair of bollocks now, do you? Big man, huh? Tell me, where’d you get that money Muggsy? On your knees for some wrinkly ol’ bastard?”

Heat rushed through Eggsy. “Fuck you,” Eggsy sneered. “Unlike you, I earn my money the right way.”

“That what you tell yourself at night underneath him? That it’s for queen and country as he has yours knees around your head?” Dean grinned, a wide toothy sneer that reminded Eggsy of a shark opening his mouth. It was too much teeth and too much gum. Too much the feral grin of Eggsy’s childhood, leering over him, reminding him that he was a powerless kid in the face of a vicious monster.

Eggsy clenched his fists and jerked his arm from his mum’s grasp. “Fuck you,” Eggsy said, his rage seeping into the very cadence of his words, slurring them into a hiss. “You’re just a piece of shite who can’t even take care of his own family. You need someone else to do it for you. You’re nothing!”

Eggsy didn’t even have time to regret his words. As soon as they were out, they were chased by fists. Dean went from the door to across the room in a blink, and the only thing that Eggsy had to process it was his mother’s fearful scream.

Pain erupted along the side of Eggsy’s face as his head snapped to the side. Blood pooled in his mouth, tart and coppery, and he spit a bit onto the carpet before Dean followed with a second punch, this time in Eggsy’s gut. Eggsy hunched over with a groan, his knees buckling. Dean grabbed him by the throat before he could sink to the floor and slammed him into the wall.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Dean sneered, his nose centimeters from Eggsy’s, his beer-and-sausage breath ghosting over Eggsy’s face like mustard gas.

Michelle sobbed and reached for Dean. “Leave him be Dean!”

“Shut it Shell!” Dean shouted, briefly turning to jam his finger in her face. He tightened his hold on Eggsy, his fingers becoming a vice around his throat until all air was cut off.

Eggsy choked, beating at the relentless steel of Dean’s arm. Dean squeezed harder and the corners of Eggsy’s vision began to buzz.

“You’re going to kill him!” Michelle sobbed.

“First you flake,” Dean said, ignoring Michelle. “Then you show up here, acting like you own this place? You’re nothing, you hear me Muggsy? Nothing, just like your daddy.”

Tears burned Eggsy’s eyes, blurring his already fading vision. He clawed at Dean’s hands.

With the last bit of strength, he had, he slammed his knee up into Dean’s groin. Dean’s hand instantly went slack and he dropped Eggsy. Eggsy crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. He clutched onto his throat, drawing in painful gulps of air.

Dean collapsed to his knees, puking up whatever contents were in his stomach, some of it splashing onto Eggsy.

Eggsy shakily picked himself up, vision still blurry and limbs shaking, and whispered hoarsely, “Sorry mum.”

He had to get out of there. If he stayed, Dean would kill him. He stumbled out the door, barreling away from the apartment and his mum’s cries.

* * *

            The streets blurred together as he ran through London. The air in his lungs was fire. Every breath fed the flames, burning him from the inside out, but he kept running, racing back towards Harry and safety.

            When Stanhope Mews finally came into view, dusk had fallen, as if all of London had decided it would burn along with him. He came to a stop and hunched over, his hands braced on his knees. He drew in deep wheezing gulps and stared up at the flat.

            It wasn’t until he was opening the door that he realized he should have cleaned up first, should have erased the signs of abuse. Even though he felt guilty for thinking it, Eggsy was grateful Harry couldn’t see his face.

            “Eggsy?” Harry called from upstairs.

            “Ye—” His voice cracked. Eggsy cleared his throat and called up, “Yeah.”

            He removed his shoes and tip-toed up the stairs. Sweat cooled on his face. Where Dean had struck him still stung. Each time Eggsy brushed his tongue over his lip, he felt the sticky cut. He needed to wash up and bandage his wounds.

            The door to Harry’s study opened. “Is everything all right?”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy croaked, vocal chords still sore. He winced and inched towards the upstairs bathroom. “I’ll start dinner in a little bit. I forgot to stop at the shop though.”

            “What’s wrong?” Harry said, stepping out of his office and closing the door behind him.

            “Nothing,” Eggsy said, more defensively than he meant.

            “Something is. Why is your voice so rough?” Harry took a step towards Eggsy and Eggsy took a step backwards. “Come here.”

            “I’m fine,” Eggsy said.

            Harry furrowed his brow as he walked towards Eggsy. Panic seized Eggsy’s chest as he backed against a wall.

            “Really Harry,” Eggsy said. “Just a bit winded, that’s all.”

            Harry frowned but nodded curtly. “Apologies. You just sounded different.”

“You can tell?” Eggsy asked.

“Of course,” Harry said. “Well… I’ll leave you be. I hadn’t meant to pry. I was just thrown off—it sounded as if you’d been hurt and I got worried.”

Eggsy swallowed thickly. “You did?”

“Yes,” Harry said. Eggsy wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, but Harry’s face deepened to a lovely shade of crimson. “I… well, never mind. You’re obviously fine.”

He turned and started to retreat back to his office. Eggsy watched him walk away and something inside him opened. A deep, yawning need for comfort. For more than the consternation of his life.

Eggsy wanted this home. He wanted the piano. He wanted the warmth of the fire. He wanted _Harry_.

All he could think of as he raced through the streets was of here, of these moments, and Harry’s rhythmic cadence, and the quiet repetition of their lives.

“I am,” Eggsy blurted out.

Harry stopped and looked back. “Excuse me?”

Eggsy drew his shoulders back and said, allowing the pain to seep into his words, “I’m… hurt.”

Harry turned around sharply and walked over to him. “What do you mean you’re hurt?” He reached for Eggsy’s face, but stopped centimeters away. Eggsy could feel the heat of his fingers through the air. “May I?”

“Y-yeah,” Eggsy whispered, licking his chapped lips.

Harry gingerly ran his fingers along Eggsy’s face, tracing over his puffy cheek and split lip. Eggsy winced at the flare of pain from the touch. Harry’s face contorted with each passing touch. His fingers dipped down, along the line of Eggsy’s jaw, and swept over the curve of his neck.

A shuddering breath escaped Eggsy as he watched Harry.

Harry retracted his hands and demanded, “Who did this to you?”

Eggsy considered lying. He could say he was jumped. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to lie anymore. Not to Harry. Not here.

“My step dad,” Eggsy said.

Harry’s expression grew furious, and for a moment Eggsy regretted saying anything, but then Harry gestured towards the bathroom. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Eggsy let Harry guide him into the bathroom and took a seat on the toilet. Harry effortlessly located the first aid kit and set it out. Eggsy almost asked how he knew where it was, but he supposed Harry had everything about the house memorized.

Neither spoke as Harry unzipped the case and pulled out the supplies. He fetched a flannel and dampened it. Eggsy tracked his movements, following him as Harry knelt in front of him and carefully began to wash the blood away.

They sat in silence, and for once, Eggsy was okay with it. Okay with the unspoken words and captured breaths. It was in the quiet that he could watch Harry, could truly hear him.

Harry exchanged the flannel for an antiseptic cream that he padded against Eggsy’s split lip. Eggsy flinched away at the sting.

“Sorry,” Harry murmured.

“S’okay,” Eggsy whispered, afraid to speak any louder. He couldn’t help but lean slightly into Harry’s touch, even as it burned.

Harry applied a cream to Eggsy’s throat and said afterwards, “It’ll help with bruising.”

He took out a plaster and smoothed it onto Eggsy’s cheek with a smile. “I do recall us being in a similar position once before.”

“But our roles were reversed,” Eggsy said.

Harry hummed and swiped his thumb over the plaster one last time. “There.” He stood and packed up the supplies. “Now, how about a cup of tea?”

“Got anything a bit stronger?”

Harry smirked. “There’s a bottle of brandy downstairs. Care to open it?”

“ _Yes_ Harry,” Eggsy said and stood.

They went downstairs and Eggsy found the brandy in the wet bar. He was sure the bottle cost more than what he’d see in a lifetime, but for once he couldn’t feel guilty for opening it. He poured two glasses and brought them over to the couch, handing Harry one.

Harry accepted his with a thank you and took a sip. Eggsy was tempted to throw his back like a cheap shot, but he took a page from Harry’s book and mimicked his gestures, sipping at the brandy economically.

“Shite, that’s good,” Eggsy said, only slightly regretting his choice to drink when his lip burned like a lit match had been pressed against it.

Harry smiled at him, amusement crinkling his eyes. Eggsy thought they would like everything fade away, that they could sit there in silence and drink to their misery, but after a few more sips, Harry asked, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but… does your step father do this often?”

Eggsy looked at Harry and clenched his jaw. Often didn’t seem like the right word. Often made it sound like he was just an annoyance. A casual day-to-day nuisance. He often dealt with distrustful looks from shop clerks. He often got profiled by cops.

Dean wasn’t an often.

He was an always.

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, looking down at his brandy. “Yeah, he does it about every day. Some days worse than others,” He reached up and rubbed his throat, “Today was one of the bad ones.”

“How long has this been going on?” Harry asked. He turned his body so his knees brushed against Eggsy’s. Even through the layers of their clothes, Eggsy could feel his warmth.

“Since I was twelve,” Eggsy said, swirling the glass and watching as the brandy grew dangerously close to the rim. He stopped before it could spill over and be wasted. “Though I don’t think it got this bad until after he married mum.”

A hollow laugh escaped Eggsy. It bubbled up from his chest like a ball of phlegm and escaped in a broken, sharp cough. He drained the remainder of the brandy and set the glass down.

“That’s why I needed this,” Eggsy said, still clutching onto the glass. “Because I can’t stay there. I can’t stay there, and I can’t let my mum and sister stay there anymore. If we don’t get out, we’re going to die.”

He looked up, and even though Harry couldn’t see him, he looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m not exaggerating. Dean will kill us. One day he won’t stop. He’ll choke the life out of me, and when I’m not there to stop it, he’ll do the same to them.”

A hand slid over his arm and Eggsy realized he was trembling. He choked on a sob and scrubbed uselessly at his face with his fists, trying to push the tears back.

“Fuck,” Eggsy croaked. “So fucking stupid.”

“No,” Harry whispered. He drew Eggsy close, and Eggsy was too weak to resist. He wanted that warmth. He wanted the comfort. He went into Harry’s arms and collapsed.

Harry wrapped his arms around him and whispered into his hair. “It’s okay my dear boy, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Eggsy groaned throat his tears. “It’s never been.”

“It is now,” Harry said, stroking the hairs at the nape of his neck. “It is now.”

Eggsy clutched onto him, sobbing into his shoulder until the tears ran dry and all he could do was heave dryly. Harry clutched him close, saying nothing else as Eggsy fell a part in arms.

Eggsy slumped against him, curled around Harry like a blanket, and stared listlessly into nothing. His eyes were damp and the tears cooled on his cheeks. His chest ached from sobbing. It hadn’t helped his already abused throat.

A comforting silence enveloped around them and neither seemed quick to break it. Eggsy toyed with a loose button on Harry’s cardigan. He could smell is cologne. It was deep and woodsy, with a hint of tea lingering in the undernotes. If Harry wanted him to move, he didn’t say so, and Eggsy wasn’t ready to separate, to return to how they were before.

“Was it true?” Eggsy asked quietly, his breath ghosting along the curve of Harry’s neck.

“What?” Harry whispered.

“What Roxy said… about…” Eggsy didn’t finish.

Harry stilled his hand against the back of Eggsy’s neck. Eggsy liked the weight of it there, holding him in place.

“Yes,” Harry whispered, a confession for the priest.

Eggsy looked down. “Do you think it gets easier? The hurting?”

Harry sighed and his breath stirred the hairs on the top of Eggsy’s head. “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t the answer Eggsy wanted.

“Why did you do it?” Eggsy asked. He knew he was pushing his luck. Harry didn’t have to answer him. He didn’t owe Eggsy anything. He didn’t really expect an answer.

Harry didn’t respond for a while, and Eggsy was fine with that. Fine with letting it go. He didn’t even know if he really wanted to hear Harry’s reasoning.

“Because…” Harry whispered.

Eggsy lifted his head so he could look at Harry. Harry clutched onto his drink, which was only half finished.

“I loved him,” Harry whispered. “More than I have ever loved myself. More than I have ever loved another.”

Eggsy blinked, taken back by the earnestness of Harry’s words. He let his hand slip from Harry’s shoulder and settle over his free hand.

“If you have ever loved someone the way I have loved James, then you would know that losing them is like losing your soul. He wasn’t just a piece, he was all of it. He was my world, the strength that carried me through, even as my vision failed me. And to lose him like that, without a goodbye, without anything but… simply not being there anymore…”

Harry’s voice wobbled. Eggsy’s throat clenched with emotion. He scooted closer, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“I wasn’t ready for goodbye,” Harry whispered through his unshed tears. “So how do I let him go when I can’t?”

“Harry…”

“I wish he was here every day. Every morning when I wake up I reach for him and find his side cold. Every day I listen for him. For his laughter and his footsteps. For his presence, which filled this house with so much life, and I find only quietness. And at night, I go to our bed, and it’s empty. Because he isn’t there anymore. He isn’t there to hold me. To tell me goodnight. He isn’t there, and I need him to be.”

Harry collapsed forward, and it was only Eggsy’s quick reflexes that prevented him from toppling over. The brandy fell to the floor, but Eggsy let it go. It was his turn to draw Harry into his arms, to hold him close as he sobbed.

Eggsy didn’t know what to say, because he’d never been loved like that. He never expected to be loved like that. But he held Harry, and he whispered it would be okay, because that in the end all they had were their quiet platitudes.

* * *

Around midnight Eggsy woke to music. He stirred in his bed, his head slightly throbbing from crying earlier, and looked towards his closed bedroom door. He almost believed it was a dream, the sound was so faint, a distant impression of a piano. He rolled onto his back and listened, trying to make out the song and where it came from.

Eventually he peeled the comforter and sheets back and slipped out of bed. He didn’t bother putting on a shirt, though a slight chill settled over the bare skin of his chest. Silently he crept out of his room, the music growing louder once he opened his door.

The music was coming from the living room. Eggsy went to the stairs, mindful of the creaking floorboards, and stopped near the top, just when he could see into the room below. He rested his head against the wall and watched Harry’s back as he played the piano, his silhouette framed by the blue glow of the moon.

There were glimpses of his hands, his elegantly long fingers, as they glided over the keys. The muscles in his back rolled with the movements of his sweeping arms. He was poetry in motion and a longing opened inside Eggsy.

The [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NbBY5cmSx1g) made his heart race. He didn’t know why, but he was breathless and excited and sad all at once. His throat thickened with emotions he couldn’t place his finger on, and all he could do was listen.

He didn’t dare say anything. He didn’t want to disturb Harry, to make him stop. Part of him wondered if Harry knew he was there. Part of him knew he did.

Harry didn’t acknowledge Eggsy and it was okay. Neither of them needed to say anything, they only needed to listen.

The music flowed over them in the dark. The score was ardent in a way that Eggsy only dreamed of, and for a moment, on those steps, he thought he knew what Harry meant about missing his soul.

Eggsy swallowed down tears and closed his eyes. He didn’t know when the music stopped, but at some point, it ended, replaced by the softness of Harry’s crying.

Eggsy opened his eyes and looked down at Harry, hunched over the piano, his shoulders trembling.

            Should he go down? Eggsy curled an arm around his stomach. There were no more platitudes Eggsy could offer to erase the immense pain Harry harbored. He didn’t know if there would ever be anything that could ease it. Only the ocean of time would ebb away at the ache in the same way the sea breaks down the cliffsides.

            Eggsy stood and crept down the stairs. He hovered behind Harry, torn between retreating back to his room so Harry could have a private moment, and offering the comfort he knew they both needed.

            Gathering himself, he approached Harry and took a seat on the bench beside him. Harry stilled, a deer caught in the headlights, and sniffled. It was profoundly childish, a small whimper that reminded Eggsy of Daisy, and he knew then that he couldn’t walk away.

            “Teach me?” Eggsy whispered.

            Harry let out a shuddering breath and nodded. He didn’t say anything, merely placed his hands on the keys and began to play all over again. Eggsy watched Harry’s hands intently, trying to memorize each movement as he flowed over the keys. His fingers were tiny dancers pirouetting across the ivory.

            When Harry stopped, Eggsy positioned his hands in a similar fashion, a few notes lower, and began to play. Harry set his hand on top of Eggsy’s when he got a note wrong and showed him again.

            They continued, late into the night, the only light coming from the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music:
> 
> When Hearts Collide by Alexis Ffenc


	3. Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy grow closer until Dean decides to step in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-betaed, so sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> This chapter has violence and drug use in it.

Neither speak about what happened. About Eggsy’s bruises or James’s memory. They don’t talk about Harry playing or that he refuses to touch the piano during the day. Their days carry on, their routine running like a well-oiled machine. Eggsy continued to prepare breakfasts. Continued to clean and cook and run errands and talk with Harry like they were lifelong friends. Harry continued to retire in the evening to his study and Eggsy played the piano. He never practiced the song, he didn’t dare try in fear that the peace they developed would break.

            When Eggsy went to bed, Harry would go down and play. Eggsy waited a few minutes, and then crept to the stairs and listened. They never repeated the first night. Eggsy never joined Harry and Harry never asked him. They sat in silence; Harry played the same song and Eggsy listened, his heart growing heavier with each passing night.

* * *

            “Do you need any help?” Harry asked, just as Eggsy unloaded the five canvas bags he was carrying onto the counter with an exaggerated grunt.

            “No, I got it,” Eggsy said, pretending to pant.

            “I figured. You’re a young strapping lad,” Harry said and leaned against the counter. “Did you remember my digestives?”

            “You know those are rubbish, right? You don’t need to be eating that crap,” Eggsy said, even as he riffled through the bags and found the sleeve of biscuits.

            “Nonsense,” Harry said, accepting the biscuits with a flourish. “And I don’t hear you complaining when you’re sneaking them.”

            “I don’t sneak,” Eggsy said.

            Harry lifted his eyebrow challengingly. “Oh, and I suppose they vanished on their own?”

            “Maybe you ate them.” Eggsy sorted through the groceries. “That might be why you’re going soft in the middle.”

            “I am not,” Harry sputtered, flushing.

            Eggsy grinned. No, Harry wasn’t. He was right fit. And becoming a frequent visitor of his late-night dreams. But Eggsy wouldn’t say that out loud.

            “What do you want for dinner?” Eggsy asked, putting away the vegetables. “I was thinking a stir fry?”

            “That sounds lovely,” Harry said.

            They both looked up when there was a bang at the door. Eggsy frowned and closed the fridge. “I’ll get it,” he said and went to answer.

            Harry followed him, but stopped out of sight of the door. Eggsy glanced at him, then opened the door, just as Dean was ready to bang on it again.

            “Dean,” Eggsy gasped, his heart leaping into his throat.

            “This _is_ where you’re at, y’ little wankstain,” Dean said.

            “How did you find me?” Eggsy didn’t give anyone his address. He made sure there were no crumbs leading back to him. He’d been careful.

            “I put some feelers out,” Dean said with a sniff.

            Eggsy should have known Dean would find him, even with how carefully Eggsy tried to hide everything. All it took was one person recognizing Eggsy while he was out with Harry and word would get back to him.

            “You need to leave,” Eggsy ordered, already starting to close the door.

            Dean slammed his hand against it, a steel bar that wouldn’t give, no matter how hard Eggsy pushed against the door. “I don’t think so,” Dean said. “I’m not going anywhere, not without you.”

            Eggsy looked past Dean to where a couple of his mutts stood. They hung back, giving Dean a wide berth, but filled the path leading to Harry’s flat.

            Desperation clutched at his heart. He could feel his hope slipping away with a sinking sensation.

            “I’m not going anywhere,” Eggsy said through grit teeth. The bruises on his face and neck hadn’t even healed yet. “Now get out of here.”

            “I didn’t ask,” Dean said and grabbed Eggsy by his wrist.

            “Let go!” Eggsy shouted, clutching onto the door. Dean tugged, and Eggsy was afraid he’d pull his whole arm out of its socket.

            “That’s enough,” Harry stated, his voice a stern crack of thunder. He appeared behind Eggsy, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

            Dean blinked and looked at Eggsy. His gaze swept over him, and Eggsy could see Dean underestimating Harry, already writing him off as nothing but a cripple.

            “This isn’t your concern granddad,” Dean said. “I just came here to collect my boy.”

            “I’m not your boy,” Eggsy spat.

            Dean raised his hand to strike Eggsy, but stopped when Harry said, “Eggsy won’t be going anywhere. Now you can either leave quietly, or I will be forced to call the police.”

            Dean huffed out a laugh and let go of Eggsy’s wrist. He raised his hands in surrender, and Eggsy rolled his eyes— _idiot_.

            “No need for that,” Dean said, fixing Eggsy with a venomous glare that belied his docile tone. “We aren’t here to cause trouble. Are we, _boys?_?”

            “Nope,” One said, while the other added, “No.”

            Harry didn’t tense at the additional voices, but his grip grew stronger on Eggsy’s shoulder and drew him closer, until Eggsy’s back was flushed against his chest. Eggsy’s breath hitched.

            “Good,” Harry said. “Then I ask that you leave, _now_ , and not return.”

            “Sure,” Dean said, never breaking eye contact with Eggsy. “I’ll be seeing you, Muggsy.”

            Eggsy clenched his teeth to keep from hurling swears at him. Harry closed the door and locked it.

            “Are you okay Eggsy?” He asked as soon as the door was shut.

            Neither moved. Eggsy didn’t want to break away from the warmth just yet.

            “Yeah,” Eggsy murmured, looking down at the wrist Dean had grabbed. He could see finger-shaped bruises forming like cruel constellations. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

            “Don’t worry darling, he won’t hurt you again,” Harry said.

            Eggsy’s gaze snapped up at the endearment. He couldn’t find air in his lungs, even after Harry stepped away.

            He forced himself to whisper, “Yeah,” and gratefully Harry didn’t comment on the tremor in his voice.

* * *

            It had been a long time since Eggsy had a chance to go the bar. He’d been hesitant to leave Harry, especially after Dean showed up, but he needed to get down to the bottom of this. Dean tracked him somehow and Eggsy planned to find out how. He called Brandon and rounded up the boys. They met at a bar called the Brass Knocker. Sex Pistols played on the jukebox when they arrived.

            Eggsy bought the first round. For a while it was like old times, when they didn’t give a shit about anything but what bed they’d fall into at the end of the night. But even back then, Eggsy thought, there had always been that specter of fear hovering over them.

            “What’s he like?” Brandon asked. He’d been watching Eggsy all night. They exchanged glances across the table, fleeting looks that pulled at Eggsy’s gut.

            “Who?” Eggsy asked, swirling his beer in its glass. A ring of foam slid down the sides.

            “This guy you’re working for.”

            “Harry? He’s a decent bloke,” Eggsy said, suddenly feeling protective. He didn’t want to talk about Harry, to share that part of himself. He didn’t want them to know about the fragile thing that existed between them.

            “Treating you well?” Brandon asked.

            Eggsy raised his eyebrows, trying to read his tone. “Yeah. He’s a proper gentleman, you feel me?”

            “You’re lucky bruv,” Jamal said, raising his glass in Eggsy’s direction. “My boss is a real knobhead. I swear he’s wanking it in his office most days.”

            Eggsy huffed and drained the rest of his beer. He set his glass down. “Have you heard anything around the block about me?”

            “What you mean?” Liam asked. He was slumped against the booth, his arm thrown over the back.

            “Dean showed up the other day,” Eggsy said. “Tried to start some problems. And I didn’t tell him where I was. So, someone spotted me. Wanted to know if any of you heard someone talking.”

            “That how you got those bruises?” Brandon asked. He sat up, setting his beer down. “He do that to you?”

            Eggsy shrugged. “When I stopped at the flat.”

            “Bruv, why would you go back there?” Brandon asked.

            “Mum, she needed me,” Eggsy said, and for a moment he considered telling them about the baby. He met Brandon’s eyes, and the intensity of his stare made him look away again. “Have you?”

            “No,” Jamal said, followed by Ryan and Liam.

            Eggsy cursed under his breath. He guessed it didn’t matter—what would he do with the information?

            “Rottweiler,” Brandon said after a moment. “He came into the Prince the other day when me and Liam were getting a drink. You remember?”

            “Yeah. Ratface prick looked excited,” Liam said with a sniff. He finished his beer.

            “When was that?” Eggsy asked.

            “Tuesday?” Brandon turned his glass between his fingers, condensation rolling down the side. “He whispered something to Dean, but I didn’t hear. I’m sorry bruv.”

            Eggsy shook his head and slumped back in his seat. “No, thanks.”

            “What are you going to do?” Ryan asked.

            “I don’t know… nothing, I suppose. But you mind keeping your ears open, see if you hear anything?”

            “Of course,” Brandon said.

            “Whose turn is it to by the next round?” Ryan asked.

            “Liam’s,” Jamal said, shoving Liam’s shoulder.

            “Bruv, you’re the one that just got paid,” Liam said, but went to stand.

            “None for me,” Eggsy said. They all turned to look at him. “I got to get going.”

            “You just got here,” Brandon said.

            “Sorry bruv. Got an early morning,” Eggsy said. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t why he was so keen on getting home. He didn’t want to miss Harry playing.

            Eggsy stood and dropped a bit of money on the table. “I’ll get the next.”

            “You’re a real gentleman,” Ryan teased, snatching up the notes.

            Brandon stood with him. He looked like he wanted to say something, and Eggsy waited, but then Brandon looked at the others and sunk back into his seat. Eggsy waved, feeling only the slightest bit guilty for leaving so soon.

* * *

            In the morning, Eggsy prepared a full English breakfast. Harry asked him about his evening and Eggsy just smiled and said it was fine. He didn’t want to worry him about Dean. Already the edges of his peaceful world had begun to turn black from the plague of that man’s existence.

            When they were halfway through the meal, Harry wiped his mouth and asked, “Have you ever been to the opera Eggsy?”

            “Are you setting me up for a laugh?” Eggsy asked, spearing a mushroom with his fork. “Bruv, you think I could afford tickets to the opera? I can barely afford to buy a new album off iTunes.”

            “Would you like to go?” Harry asked with a small smile.

            Eggsy set his fork down without eating the mushroom. “Are you serious?”

            He couldn’t tell if Harry was teasing him or not. He didn’t make jokes often.

            “I happened to secure two tickets for tomorrow night. Unless you had other plans, I would like to take you.”

            “No, no I don’t have plans,” Eggsy mumbled, trying to wrap his brain around the offer. Harry wanted to take him? Why was his heart racing? Did it suddenly get hot in there? He needed air. He couldn’t breathe.

            “Eggsy?” Harry pressed with a frown. “If you don’t want to go…”

            “No!” Eggsy shouted, practically lunging out of his seat and causing Harry to jump. He winced and sat back down, saying at a lower decibel, “I mean, I do. I want to go. I’d love to. I—uh, thank you.”

            Harry chuckled, a rich sound that was a thick and indulgent as caramel. It sent shivers down Eggsy’s spine.

            “Good, then tomorrow.”

            “Yeah, tomorrow,” Eggsy said and he just knew he was smiling dopily. He picked up his fork and ate the mushroom. Harry started on his meal again and comfortable silence settled over them, until Eggsy realized with a sinking feeling, “I don’t have anything to wear.”

            “What?”

            He flushed. Guys like Harry had dozens of suits. But the only suit Eggsy ever had was from when he’d almost gone to juvenile detention.

            “I uh, don’t have a suit,” Eggsy repeated. And you had to wear one to the symphony. He was pretty sure they kicked people out of you don’t. He chewed on his bottom lip. This was a dumb idea. He didn’t belong there. “You should call Roxy and take her. I’m sure she’d love to go.”

            His throat thickened with the overwhelming need to breakdown. How ridiculous was it to get upset over something so pointless—something that he’d only known about for not even a minute.

            “Darling,” Harry said, and Eggsy lived for the times he was called that. “You needn’t worry about that. I figured as much. We’ll be going out shopping this afternoon.”

            “Shopping?” Eggsy nearly choked on his food. “Harry, I can’t afford a suit.”

            “Who said you were paying?” Harry took a bite of food.

            As much as Eggsy wanted to let Harry buy him all kinds of things, he couldn’t in good conscious allow it. “No, Harry. You don’t have to—tickets are more than enough.”

            Harry reached out, and after a brief moment of seeking, settled his hand over Eggsy’s. “I want to. Consider it my apology for how things began between us.”

            “Harry…”

            “I won’t take no for an answer.”

            “Okay,” Eggsy said, albeit reluctantly. He knew how stubborn Harry could be. He didn’t want to fight. But he wasn’t going to let Harry spend too much money on him. He wasn’t worth it.

            “Good,” Harry said with a triumphant smile. “Now, finish eating so we can go.”

            Eggsy huffed, but finished his breakfast. When they were done, Eggsy cleaned the kitchen. Once the last of the dishes were washed and put away, they took a cab to Kingsman Tailor Shop.

            Saville Row was one of the streets in London that Eggsy had never set foot on. It was the same with Bond Street. Everything in the shops that lined the street cost more money than Eggsy had seen in his life. Even with a closet full of Burberry products, the brands Eggsy had were knockoffs he bought out of the back of some bloke’s boot.

            The suit he wore to court had been an off-the-rack from Primemark and had cost him a month’s worth of savings.

            “Harry,” Eggsy said, eyeing Kingsman’s storefront.

            Eggsy never thought he’d visit a tailor shop, even with one of his friends working for one.

            “Yes?” Harry asked innocently and made his way to the steps. Eggsy was at his side, his guilt outweighed by his fear of Harry falling in public. Harry maneuvered the steps with ease and entered the store, Eggsy at his heels like a lost puppy.

            “We don’t need to do this,” Eggsy said. “I mean, this is too much.”

            “Nonsense,” Harry said and stopped in the middle of the store.

            Roxy came out from the back. “Uncle Harry,” she greeted and went to kiss Harry on the cheek. “I have fitting room one ready for you.”

            “Excellent,” Harry said. “It’s the only appropriate room to pop one’s cherry.”

            Eggsy sputtered. “What?”

            “A figure of speech,” Harry said with an impish grin. Eggsy had never seen this side of Harry and it was doing strange things to Eggsy’s insides.

            Roxy rolled her eyes. “Ignore him Eggsy,” she said. “Harry told me we’re getting you a suit?”

            “Yeah, but I don’t think—”

            “I’ve pulled a few options that should be your size and placed them into the room. I know we’re in a bit of a time crunch, but I think I can have some adjustments made in time if we find one soon enough.”

            Eggsy frowned—he certainly wasn’t pouting—and reluctantly let them pull him into the changing room. Roxy could be just as stubborn as Harry.

            Roxy shoved him into the room and said, “Take your time. Andrew will be the one helping you, and he’ll be down in a moment.”

            Harry followed him into the changing room and closed the door. Eggsy flushed and croaked, “What are you doing?”

            “You needn’t be embarrassed,” Harry said and gestured to his eyes. “I can’t see anything.”

            Eggsy was pretty sure his flush spread throughout his whole body. “Right,” He managed to wheeze out. That somehow didn’t alleviate his spiking anxiety. Eggsy swallowed thickly and turned to the suits hung up. There were three of various styles, all of them gorgeous, and all of them expensive looking.

            With a resigned sigh, Eggsy started to strip. He was acutely aware of Harry in the room. He was the moon to Eggsy’s ocean, his presence pulling at Eggsy’s tide, always drawing him back. Eggsy slipped out of his jacket and folded it. He undid his belt and told himself that Harry didn’t turn to the rattling sound of his metal buckle.

            He toed out of his sneakers and pulled his shirt over his head. He caught a glimpse of his shirtless reflection in the mirror, his chest a bright red. Harry stood behind him, his hands clasped in front of him. Eggsy watched him through the mirror, a hunger opening inside him—what would happen if Eggsy stripped all the way, if Eggsy offered himself, if he—he shook his head, dispelling the thoughts.

            “Can I ask you something?” Eggsy asked in order to distract himself and his tempting thoughts.

            If Harry knew what was going through Eggsy’s mind, he didn’t show it.

            “Of course.”

            Eggsy unzipped his trousers and let them fall in a denim pile at his ankles. He stepped out of them and kicked his jeans aside.

            “You said… you said James had been there when your vision went out,” Eggsy said. Harry tensed at the mention of James. “Does that mean you used to be able to see?”

            He walked over to the first suit. It was a dark grey with an open weave and a single button. The fabric was soft between Eggsy’s fingers, an ideal weight that wouldn’t leave him too hot.

            “That’s correct,” Harry said.

            Eggsy slid on the pants, glancing at Harry through the mirror again. “How’d you lose it?”

            He finished dressing. Roxy had selected a tie to go with the suit, it was a shade of gray lighter with an almost metallic sheen and deep burgundy stripes. Eggsy fiddled with the tie, frowning at his reflection as he tried to get the knot right. He cursed under his breath.

            Harry approached him from behind and reached around to brush Eggsy’s hands away. Eggsy’s breath caught in his throat as Harry easily tied the knot of his tie.

            “It’s called Stargardt Disease,” Harry said, finishing the tie. He smoothed his hands down Eggsy’s shoulders, his fingers lingering on his arms. “I’ve had it since I was a boy. It’s a degenerate disease that damages the retina over time.”

            Harry smiled, but it wasn’t like the impish grin he had shared out in the main room. There was a tiredness to his mouth, and Eggsy wished he could take the question back.

            “Most people don’t go fully blind,” Harry said, his hands still on Eggsy’s shoulders. “But it is possible, and it usually won’t happen until later in life. Though I can’t say there is too much of a difference—my vision has always been impaired. Even as a child my vision was disrupted by large black spots. I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

            Eggsy opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. What was it like to know your fate but not be able to change it?

            “How does the suit look?” Harry asked.

            Eggsy looked at the mirror and he didn’t even recognize his reflection. The boy staring back at him wasn’t him. It was someone playing pretend. He reached out and pressed his fingers to the glass, tracing the shape of his figure with his eyes.

            “The suit is modern day armor,” Harry said. “You’d be surprised at how a proper fitting suit can change everything.”

            Eggsy’s chest hurt. Something grand compressed down on him, bowing his ribs until he couldn’t breathe. He knew what it meant to not be able to change your fate. To simply wait until it finally took over.

            And a suit wouldn’t change the fact that he was a chav. It wouldn’t protect him from Dean’s fists. It wouldn’t lift him from his position in life.

            It would only change his reflection.

            When Eggsy didn’t answer, Harry murmured, “Perhaps one of the others.”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy whispered.

            He changed out of the gray suit into a similar one in navy, this one with a tie that had a pink and white striping to it. He fumbled his way through the tie, mimicking what Harry had done earlier. He couldn’t handle anymore closeness from Harry.

            A knock at the door caught their attention. Harry opened it and welcomed in a tall man with a narrow face.

            “Hello, I’m Andrew,” the man greeted.

            Eggsy offered a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey bruv.”

            “My, Ms. Morton certainly does have an eye for measurements,” Andrew said. “You would think it’d been tailored for you.”

            Eggsy glanced at the mirror. The blue certainly looked better than the gray. He didn’t feel like he was preparing for a court date.

            “Let me just take a look to see if there’s anywhere that we need to adjust,” Andrew said.

            Harry slipped out of the room as Andrew went over Eggsy’s measurements. By the time they finished, Eggsy found Harry chatting softly with Roxy over a cup of tea.

            “All done?” Harry asked when Eggsy approached.

            “Yeah,” Eggsy said.

            “Any adjustments Andrew?”

            “No sir, he fills it out nicely. I did go ahead and take his measurements though, should you choose to have something bespoke made,” Andrew said and brought the items over to the counter.

            “That isn’t necessary—” Eggsy started, but Harry cut him off, “I’ll be in contact with you later on the matter.”

            Eggsy huffed and crossed is arms. Harry pressed a hand to his lower back and directed him to the counter. Roxy shot him a knowing smile that made him his pout deepen.

            “That’ll be £3,371.46,” Andrew said when he finished ringing up everything.

            Eggsy choked on his saliva. “Fuck you.”

            “Pardon me?” Andrew said, his eyes growing wide.

            “Eggsy?” Harry laughed, as if Andrew hadn’t just said a bunch of fabric cost over three grand.

            “Harry, that’s too much,” Eggsy said, shaking his head. “Look, I appreciate it, I do, but I’m not worth that.”

            It was out before he could take it back. He looked around the room, no one speaking. Eggsy really wished the ground would open and swallow him.

            “Darling…”

            God, Eggsy wished Harry wouldn’t use that tone. It was the tone that made Eggsy want to give him the world. When he called him ‘darling’, all Eggsy wanted to do was curl at his feet and bask in the attention.

            “If this truly upsets you, we can forget it,” Harry said, and Eggsy didn’t know why _he_ felt guilty for refusing such an exuberant gift. No one in their right mind would let someone spend that kind of money—right? Harry set his hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and squeezed. “But I can assure you darling, you are certainly worth it and more.”

            Fuck.

            Eggsy looked at the clothes. It was so much money. Eggsy could cover rent twice, maybe thrice, over and still have enough to buy food.

            “Okay,” Eggsy whispered. “I mean, thank you. Really. This is nice.”

            Harry smiled, and fuck if that didn’t do something to Eggsy. When had he started living for those moments? The brief glimpses of smiles and happiness that lit Harry’s face.

            Harry handed Andrew his card and paid for the clothes. They suit was wrapped up and they collected their parcels. Eggsy felt like they needed an armor vehicle to escort them home.

            “I’ll speak to you later Roxy dear,” Harry said as they left.

            They stopped for dinner on the way home and picked up some takeaway. Eggsy couldn’t keep his eyes off Harry, even as they split some tiki masala, and when Harry stood to retire to his office, Eggsy asked, “Would… you like to play the piano with me?”

            Harry paused. Eggsy didn’t move, afraid that even a breath would bring a rejection from Harry.

            “That… would be nice,” Harry said with a smile.

            Eggsy grinned and made quick work of cleaning their plates. They took a seat the piano, shoulder to shoulder, and Eggsy rested his fingers gingerly against the keys.

            “Do you know this song?” Eggsy asked and started to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pefzSBTd0m0).

            Harry listened with his head bowed as Eggsy played the song. Halfway through he joined in. It was the first time they had played together since Eggsy had found Harry playing on his own. Eggsy watched Harry, his fingers moving on muscle memory, and before he even realized it, he was grinning.

            The fading light of the day lit Harry’s face, bathing it in a soft pink. A serenity fell over him as he gave himself to the music. Eggsy wanted to stay there, for the song to continue on into eternity, for this world of theirs made up of sheet music and ivory, to keep them from the rest of the world.

            The song ended, though, and they were forced back to reality.

            For a while neither moved, and then Harry began to play, and they stayed in their world for a little longer.

* * *

            “We need to get going Eggsy,” Harry called from downstairs.

Eggsy fiddled with his tie in the mirror, redoing it for the third time. He almost redid it a fourth time, but doubted he could make Harry wait much longer. He drew in a deep breath and let it out through his nose.

“You got this,” Eggsy told his reflection.

It was silly to be so nervous. It wasn’t like they were going on a date.

Of course, convincing his gut of that was another thing.

            Eggsy slipped on his jacket and headed downstairs. Harry waited for him at the foot of the stairs. Eggsy stumbled on the steps, caught off guard by the elegant line Harry cut in his suit. Even if it wasn’t the first time Eggsy had seen him dressed up, it didn’t take away from the fact that Harry was breathtaking in bespoke.

            “Ready?” Harry asked.

            “Yeah,” Eggsy said. At least his throat was steady, even if his hands weren’t.

            A taxi waited outside for them. They took it to the Royal Opera House. Eggsy wasn’t sure how Harry would handle being in such a crowded place, where no one ever watched where they walked, but he navigated the crowds confidently, Eggsy at his side.

            “Harry,” A bald man called as he approached them.

            He was accompanied by another man with dark hair and rather plain features. He was handsome, but Eggsy wasn’t sure why, since there wasn’t anything extraordinary about his face. At least not in the way Harry was.

            “Merlin,” Harry said and shook the man’s hands. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

            “Percival insisted I leave my dungeon,” Merlin said. “I heard you were at the shop the other day.”

            “Yes,” Harry said and pressed a hand to Eggsy’s lower back, guiding him into focus. “We were getting Eggsy here his first suit.”

            Eggsy flushed, feeling like a child on display. “Uh, hey.”

            “Eggsy, this is Merlin and his partner Percival. Merlin is the CTO of Kingsman,” Harry said.

            “A pleasure to meet you, lad,” Merlin said.

            Eggsy wouldn’t have placed him for a CTO. With his smooth scalp, sharp features, and rich Scottish accent, he looked more the part of a villain role in a Bond film. Percival shook his hand next, seeming content to remain silently at Merlin’s side.

            “I’m going to go get a drink,” Eggsy announced. “Do you want anything Harry?”

            “A martini will do,” Harry said. “Thank you, darling.”

            Eggsy flushed, especially when Merlin raised an eyebrow. He hurried off to the bar to order their drinks. It was cowardly to run away, but his anxiety was already high being surrounded by so many people. If anyone had seen him in his normal threads they would have kicked him out onto the street. He might as well have been wearing a mask.

            “I can’t think of the last time Harry came out to the opera,” Percival said from behind Eggsy, coming to join him at the bar. “It’s certainly nice to see him out and about.”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy murmured, trying to will the bartender to come over to him.

            “Roxy mentioned she was going to hire someone to help him around the house,” Percival said and raised a hand, signaling the bartender over. He immediately went to Percival.

            “Three martinis and a whisky neat,” Percival ordered.

            Eggsy flushed and clenched his fists. “Thanks,” he said through grit teeth.

            “How have things been going with Harry?” Percival asked, turning to face Eggsy. He leaned casually on the bar, but there was nothing casual in the way he looked Eggsy over, with the scrutiny of a hawk hunting for a field mouse.

            “Good,” Eggsy said.

            “Excellent,” Percival said, though he didn’t sound too pleased by the declaration. Eggsy had been wrong to write him off so quickly. He may not have the most memorable face, but he certainly wasn’t someone to forget.

            “So, uh, how long have you and Harry been friends?”

            “For many years,” Percival said, and Eggsy sensed there was a threat underlying the statement.

            If Eggsy was alone, he would have confronted Percival, but he bit his tongue and forced a smile. The drinks arrived and Percival paid for them.

            “A word of advice—Eggsy, was it? —Harry is a generous man, sometimes too generous for his own good. I’d think twice before taking advantage of it,” Percival said, and while his tone never changed from his neutral decibel, Eggsy never felt colder.

            “I’m not—” Eggsy started.

            Percival handed him his drink. “You may not think you are, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t. He’s been through enough.”

            Eggsy clenched his jaw and accepted the drink. Percival didn’t wait for him to respond, he carried the rest of the drinks over to where Merlin and Harry chatted. Eggsy remained at the bar, turning Percival’s warning over in his head.

            He waited until he was half-finished with his drink before he returned to Harry’s side. When the lights flickered to announce it time for patrons to take their seats, Harry steered Eggsy away from Merlin and Percival.

            “Is everything all right?” Harry asked as they made their way to their seat. Eggsy wasn’t sure where they were going, especially when Harry didn’t follow the crowd into the amphitheater.

            “Yeah, why?” Eggsy lied.

            “You’ve been awfully quiet,” Harry said. “And I know Percival can be rather… imposing.”

            That was an understatement.

            “I’m good,” Eggsy assured. He needed to pull it together. He wasn’t going to let anyone ruin tonight.

            Harry stopped an usher, who guided them to a private box.

            “Thank you,” Harry said and showed Eggsy to his seat. They were at a balcony overlooking the stage.

            “Jesus Harry,” Eggsy said. He could see everything from where they were. He didn’t want to think about how much the seats would’ve cost.

            “I may not be able to see the show, but you certainly can. And I find that a private booth adds to the experience,” Harry said.

            “Whatever you say,” Eggsy said with a shake of his head.

            They took their seats and waited for the show to start. Harry handed Eggsy a pair of fancy-looking binoculars.

            “To see better,” Harry explained without Eggsy asking.

            “Should I ask where you were keeping these?” Eggsy looked through them, able to see the stage much better now.

            The lights dimmed. Eggsy looked around the theatre. They were seeing _Rigoletto_. Eggsy didn’t know what it was about, but he was immediately captivated as the orchestra began to play.

            “That’s the Duke,” Harry explained, leaning in close to Eggsy.

            Eggsy could smell his cologne. It was an oaky richness that surrounded him and distracted him from Harry’s softly spoken explanations. He tried to focus on what Harry said, but it was hard when all he could think about was how amazing he smelled. He wanted to lean in, especially when he looked over at Harry and got distracted by the way his mouth formed each syllable. All he needed to do was close the distance between them and press his lips against Harry’s and then they’d be kissing.

            Eggsy looked through the golden opera glasses, watching the Duke perform his song. Harry shifted, his elbow brushing against Eggsy’s, and said, “You see, he’s a selfish man who doesn’t care about women. He completely disregards them, thinking they are merely objects for him.”

            “Sounds like someone I know,” Eggsy mumbled.

            “Don’t think about him.”

            Eggsy glanced at Harry. His heart pounded between his ears. He searched Harry’s face, trying to make sense of the fluttering in his stomach. He felt like a little boy again, discovering that he liked boys and girls.

            When intermission came, Eggsy excused himself and escaped to the bathroom. He splashed watch on his face to cool his flushed skin.

            “Get a hold of yourself,” Eggsy ordered his reflection.

            He took in a deep breath and returned to the lobby. He found Harry talking to Merlin and Percival. He didn’t like Percival. The man set him on edge with his sharp eyes.

            Percival watched him silently, offering a thin-lipped smile in greeting. Eggsy remained silently by Harry’s side until they were signaled to return to their seats.

            Eggsy twisted a cocktail napkin between his hands, tearing it into small pieces that gathered in his lap like paper snow. Harry settled his hand over Eggsy’s, stilling his fidgeting, and smiled.

            Harry continued to narrate the show, explaining Gilda’s struggle, and Eggsy was only happy to listen. He watched Harry, who stared out into nothing, his words hushed and intimately private. Eggsy smiled, tracing the curve of his mouth with his gaze, and leaned ever so slightly closer.

            _I love you_.

            The thought came suddenly and quietly. Eggsy felt it take root in the back of his sternum. Harry didn’t notice Eggsy as he internally had an existential crisis.

            Did he really think that?

            He did.

            He loved Harry.

            The truth struck him with an atomic force.

            Eggsy spent the rest of the evening watching Harry, memorizing the way his expression shifted between each song. Even if Harry couldn’t see the performance, Eggsy didn’t doubt that he felt it. A whimsical softness fell over him, and Eggsy could have stayed there forever, watching Harry.

* * *

            As they left the Royal Opera House, Eggsy gushed about the music. It wasn’t a lie that he’d thoroughly enjoyed the performance and would love to come back, but his favorite part of the evening hadn’t been anything on stage. It had been being with Harry in that small balcony.

            Luckily Merlin and Percival were nowhere to be found as they left. They got a cab and went to an Italian restaurant for dinner. They split a bottle of wine over rich pasta and shared a decadent chocolate cake that Harry let Eggsy consume the most of. Eggsy may have moaned at one point during dessert and delighted when Harry choked on his spoon.

            “There was so much emotion,” Eggsy said. “And those notes. It wasn’t anything like on Youtube.”

            “Nothing can compare to a live performance,” Harry agreed.

            “Thank you, Harry,” Eggsy said.

            “Think nothing of it darling,” Harry said.

            Content on wine and food, Eggsy nodded off onto Harry’s shoulder on the taxi ride home.

            “Eggsy,” Harry whispered when they came to a stop. “We’re home.”

            _Home._

He yawned and reluctantly sat up. Harry paid the driver. A soft drizzle had begun on the ride home. Neither brought an umbrella, so they hurried to the front door. Harry fumbled with his keys. When he pushed the key into the lock, the door opened, already unlocked.

            All of the sleepy happiness that had warmed through Eggsy rushed out of him on a frigid gust. He glanced at Harry, who frowned at the open door.

            Eggsy stepped in before Harry and turned on the lights. Harry walked in, but Eggsy held a hand up and said, “Don’t move.”

            “What is it?” Harry said, his tone steady, despite the tension running through it.

            Cold dread pooled in Eggsy’s gut. He looked around the decimated living room. The pictures on the wall were all destroyed and thrown on the floor. Books were scattered. Furniture over turned and broken. Glass covered the floor.

            “Eggsy?” Harry pressed, the first sign of panic trickling into his words.

            “Just stay where you are, okay?” Eggsy whispered shakily. God. Everything was destroyed. Harry wouldn’t be able to navigate his house. Not with everything like this.

            Eggsy looked over to the piano and his heart shattered.

            “No,” Eggsy croaked.

            It was wrecked. The keys had been smashed. Water dripped from the side where a vase had been over turned. Red flower petals littered the carnage.

            Angry tears blurred Eggsy’s vision.

            “Eggsy we need to call the police,” Harry said, already reaching for his phone.

            “You do that, I’m going to check the rest of the house,” Eggsy said.

            “No, we should wait outside in case they’re still here,” Harry said, but Eggsy was already on the stairs.

            Eggsy hoped they were. He wanted to catch them, to make them pay.

            He went upstairs. He started in his room, clenching his teeth. Everything he had was scattered on the floor—his clothes, the few personal items he’d brought with him. All the tiny decorations that had made the room warm.

            A tear trailed down Eggsy’s cheek as he went to Harry’s bedroom. He hovered in the threshold. This wasn’t how he wanted to enter this room. He wanted Harry to invite him. He wanted Harry to coax him to his bed and lay him out across the sheets.

            Eggsy licked his lips and walked in. The mattress had been pushed off the frame. Pictures had been smashed, just like downstairs, and dresser drawers turned out, littering the floor with clothes. Jewelry boxes had been emptied.

            “Fuck,” Eggsy whispered.

            Harry would have to assess what they took. Eggsy prayed it wasn’t anything important, something that couldn’t be replaced.

            With each passing second, Eggsy became consumed by a blackness. His eyes burned with tears he struggled to hold back.

            He checked the bathrooms to make sure no one was there. The medicine cabinets had been rifled through, no doubted in search of medications they could pilfer.

            Eggsy hesitated outside Harry’s office. Harry had been sure to never let Eggsy in. But now he had to check. He didn’t think anyone was in there, but he needed to look.

            He could hear Harry on the phone downstairs. Eggsy scrubbed at his eyes with his fists. “Pull it together,” He whispered sharply. Harry needed him to be strong.

            Eggsy pushed the office door open and stepped in. He wasn’t surprised to see it the same as everything else, but it didn’t stop his breath from catching. He walked deeper into the office and something crunched beneath his foot.

            He knelt and picked up the picture. Glass shards tumbled to the ground. The frame had broken beneath Eggsy’s shoe—or maybe it had already been destroyed. He brushed the remaining shards away and slid the picture out of the frame.

            It was Harry wrapped in the arms of another man—James, Eggsy realized. He looked so happy. He was smiling in a way Eggsy had never seen, and something deep hurt inside him.

            “Eggsy,” Harry said from behind him.

            Eggsy spun around, dropping the picture, feeling like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Of courses Harry didn’t see the picture. He didn’t see any of the ruin.

            “How bad is it?” Harry asked.

            Eggsy glanced around the room. “Not… not good.”

            “Did they take anything?” Harry asked.

            “Yeah,” Eggsy said, standing. He bit his bottom lip. “Some jewelry. Electronics.”

            Harry drew in a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. “Okay. We should go back downstairs. The police are on their way.”

            “Do you want me to see if anything important is gone?”

            Anything that Harry might have kept of James’s?

            Eggsy didn’t say it. He didn’t want to put the thought into Harry’s head. To voice the possibility.

            Harry shook his head. “What’s important now is waiting for the police.”

            “Are you okay?” Eggsy asked.

            “Come along Eggsy,” Harry said.

            Eggsy slumped his shoulders and followed Harry downstairs.

            He waited on the steps for the police while Harry stood near the door. To Eggsy’s surprise, Merlin and Percival showed up. Eggsy frowned when Harry answered the door to them.

            “The police are almost here,” Percival said, stepping inside. “Tell me everything that happened.”

            “Why is he here?” Eggsy asked, standing.

            Percival glanced at him, and Eggsy immediately felt guilty, like he’d been the one to do this—and maybe he had.

            “Percival is a detective,” Harry said. “Thank you for coming, I know tonight is your night off.”

            “Don’t worry about it Harry,” Merlin said.

            While Harry went over everything with Percival, the police arrived. Percival curtly barked out orders. Merlin seemed to content to stand off to the side and let Percival work. Eggsy sat uselessly on the stairs, trying to stay out of the way while still being close to Harry.

            “And you don’t know who would have done this?” Percival asked. While he looked at Harry, Eggsy felt like the question was posed at him.

            “I have an idea,” Harry said.

            It was obvious who would have done this. It wasn’t just some break-in. It would have been much cleaner. A quick in and out. No, this job had been done in order to destroy Harry. To hurt him.

            Only one person would have done that.

            “And that would be?”

            Eggsy chewed on his cheek, his stomach coated with nauseous black sludge. _Dean. Dean did this. Dean sent his boys. This is Dean’s doing and it’s my fault._

“Detective Gray,” A uniformed office called.

            “One moment Harry,” Percival said and went over to where the uniform signaled for him.

            “Harry,” Eggsy whispered.

            “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this Eggsy,” Harry said.

            Eggsy dug his fist into his stomach. Eggsy. Not darling. Not dear boy.

            An apology hovered on Eggsy’s tongue, but he swallowed it down and whispered okay. He glanced at Merlin, who watched him quietly, and looked away guiltily.

            It was hours before everything was finished. Eggsy drifted off to sleep on the stairs, his head resting against a rung. Merlin fixed Harry’s bed so it was back on the frame and put his sheets back. Percival offered for them to come stay at their flat, but Harry declined.

            “We’ll send someone to clean this up tomorrow,” Merlin said before they left.

            Eggsy sat on the steps and watched Harry walk into the rubble. He withdrew his walking stick and gingerly moved it through the remains of his life, finding his way through mess.

            Not sure what to say or do, Eggsy stood and went to his room.

            He gathered his clothes and threw them in a pile in the corner of the room, then righted the mattress and threw his blankets haphazardly back on the bed.

            Eggsy stretched out on his back on top of the scrunched-up sheets. He cushioned his head with his arms and stared at the ceiling, listening to the house as it settled.

            Harry went to bed an hour later. Eggsy listened to his footsteps on the stairs. Listened to his bedroom door shut.

            The private world they built in the balcony seats was miles away. Eggsy wanted to bring it back, but he knew they couldn’t. It had been destroyed, along with the piano, by Dean.

            When Eggsy closed his eyes, he saw Merlin’s and Percival’s glares, the judgement sharp as knives in their eyes.

            If he stayed there, Dean would come back. This was only the beginning. A warning.

            Eggsy knew as soon as Dean found him that it wouldn’t end. He’d been stupid for staying. For putting Harry at risk.

            He needed to fix this.

            Eggsy pushed himself up on his elbows and looked to the pile of clothes. Moon light bled through the slants of the open blinds.

            He jumped off the bed and snatched his bag out from under it. Eggsy shoved his clothes into it and the few items he had that hadn’t been wrecked by Dean’s mutts. He changed out of his suit into a pair of jeans and polo, then folded the suit and set it carefully on the dresser.

            Before he could think twice about it, Eggsy left. He crept down the stairs, mindful of the one step that creaked every time someone stepped on it, and then slipped out the front door. The rain had grown steadily and drenched him straight to the bone.

            Eggsy waited until he was made it to the Underground before he called Harry. At least this time it was a Saturday and there was a night train running. Eggsy took a seat, a puddle pooling around him, and cradled the phone to his ear.

            It went straight to voicemail. Harry would be out cold, which worked in Eggsy’s favor.

            “I’m sorry Harry” Eggsy said, trying to keep his voice steady. He clutched his soggy back to his chest. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. You weren’t ever supposed to get hurt.”

            God, he sounded like he’d orchestrated this. And maybe he did, even if he’d done it unknowingly. He was the one that brought Dean into Harry’s life.

            “I know it’s cowardly to leave in the middle of the night, but I don’t want you to get hurt again. And I know you’ll try to talk me out of it.” He bit his trembling bottom lip. Water dripped down his face, and he hoped it hid the tears he couldn’t fight back. “Thank you for everything. You don’t know how much your kindness means to me. You’re the first person to treat me like I wasn’t a criminal, and… I won’t forget it.”

            He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Tell Roxy thanks for the job. But you don’t need me anymore. You’ll be fine. It’s like you said, you can do this on your own. I know you’ll be fine.”

            Eggsy squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward. A bubble of emotion rose inside him and popped as he gulped down a sob. “Goodbye Harry.”

            He hung up before he said anything else. Eggsy pocketed his phone and buried his face into his bag. If the few people on the train heard his crying, they didn’t say anything.

* * *

            Exhaustion slowed his steps. Eggsy stood in front of his flat door and wavered. The rain pattered against the concrete. He could hear the television on the other side, which meant Dean or his mum were up. He hoped it was his mum.

            He unlocked the door and walked in.

            Dean lounged on the couch, a beer in front of him and a cigarette in his hand. He turned to Eggsy, smug satisfaction lighting his face along with the glow of the television.

            “Look what the rat dragged in,” Dean said with an oily smile. He took a drag from his cigarette. “You think you can just waltz back in here Muggsy like nothing changed?”

            The fight had been drained from Eggsy and all he wanted was to go to bed and hide beneath his sheets for the rest of his life.

            “Fuck off,” Eggsy mumbled.

            Dean stubbed his cigarette out and leaned forward. “Watch that fucking mouth,” Dean said, pointing a finger at him. “You’re paying your way one way or another, so I’ll let you choose Muggsy. I can either turn your arse out onto Smith Street or you can start running for me. Which will it be?”

            An empty numbness settled over him. His eyes were puffy from crying and his stomach hurt from the gut-wrenching sobs that had shaken him.

            Dean leaned back in his seat. “And don’t think you can get smart with me. I got my boys keeping an eye on your friend. So, the minute you try something, I’ll send Rottie over there to pay him a visit.”

            Eggsy set his jaw and clenched his hand around the strap of his bag. “Fine,” he said through grit teeth. “You win.”

            Dean already knew that. It was clear in his eyes.

            “So, what’ll be Muggsy?”

            Eggsy wasn’t about to work Smith Street. Not if he could help it.

            “Run,” Eggsy said.

            “Good. You start tomorrow.”

* * *

            The calls started the next morning. Eggsy woke to his phone ringing and Harry’s number on the screen. He stared at it until the phone went silent and then buried his head under his pillows

            A cold, wretched feeling clawed up his throat and strangled him. It was beyond cowardly to dodge Harry’s calls, to ghost him like this, but Eggsy knew that if he didn’t cut his ties now, Harry would always be at risk. And if he answered the phone, he’d cave and go back.

            Roxy tried to reach out to him, but like Harry, he sent it straight to voicemail. He knew what she’d say. He didn’t want to hear the disappointment or sympathy. He didn’t want to face yet another reason why they were on opposite sides of the world.

            The only reprise Eggsy had from his misery was being around Daisy again. He gathered his girl in his arms as soon as she woke and cuddled her close. She happily slapped his face between her hands and cooed his name. The weight of her body against his helped ground him and remind him of why he made his sacrifice.

            Rottweiler and Poodle occupied the couch while Dean ruled from the throne of his recliner. He tossed a hefty wrapped brick onto the coffee table and stated, “Take that to D’Angelo at Mint. You don’t leave until you get paid, you hear? No less twenty-five, understood? You don’t come back with that, you don’t come back at all.”

            Eggsy stared at the kilo worth of cocaine and a queasiness came over him. This was it. Everything he’d fought against, everything he’d avoided for so long, finally ended here—with him becoming another statistic. Another chav who couldn’t escape the streets and resorted to either renting or selling drugs.

            “Well?” Dean said when Eggsy didn’t immediately pick the brick up. “You fucking stupid or something, Muggsy? Go, now.”

            Eggsy sucked a sharp breath between his teeth and hastily pocketed the brick, shoving it between the band of his dark jeans. Rottweiler and Poodle watched him with beady, unblinking eyes. Despite their monikers, neither looked like the hounds they were named after. Eggsy always thought of them as rats, one tall and skinny one, and a fat, bloated one that would eventually pop.

             He left, feeling their gazes burning against the back of his neck, and headed out into the night with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and his head down. His hood was pulled over the top of his snapback, shrouding him in a protective cocoon of shadows.

            When he’d been a boy, he used to pretend he was an antihero stalking the streets for villains. He pictured himself as a protagonist out of Sin City, street tough and tragic. Now he realized he was just secondary character, the victim in the opening sequence of _Prime Suspect_. Only Helen Mirren wouldn’t be fishing his body out of the Thames.

            Mint was a local night club that had been on the decline over the last year. Too many overdoses on the front stoop and assaults in the back alley had marked it as a dangerous spot to go. That didn’t stop the desperate from lining the pavement, though; those turned out by the nicer clubs, the ones who couldn’t afford the £50 drinks, and who wore knock offs instead of real Gucci and Burberry.

            A thickly-muscled bouncer stood sentinel at the front door, which vibrated against the heavy bass of the music. He turned his head on his shoulders, his neck swallowed by the tight cording of his flank. He was bullet-shaped and dressed in a t-shirt that accentuated his bulging biceps.

            Bypassing the line of people, Eggsy approached the bouncer and said, “Dean sent me. I’m here to see D’Angelo.”

            The bouncer nodded. “In the back. Take the stairs.”

            Eggsy went in, the force of the music hitting him in his chest. He glanced around the foggy club, squeezing past the people that lingered in the hall. As he moved into the main space, the music amplified, nearly deafening as it pulsed through the club. It was dingy and bright at the same time, with a strobe of swirling multi-colored lights dancing above the DJ’s head.

            The place brimmed with people, who all gyrated in the center of the dance floor like they were in a Bosch painting.

            If Eggsy didn’t have a kilo of cocaine pressed to his sternum, he’d grabbed the nearest warm body and forget everything—Harry, Dean, and the constant ache that overtook his heart.

            Instead he headed towards the back and the stairs. Another bouncer blocked passage, but after Eggsy supplied Dean’s name, he was shown up. The office overlooked the club. Eggsy stepped around the bouncer into the room.

            D’Angelo lounged in his chair behind his desk, which was a giant black slab that belonged back in the eighties. The mirrored finish reflected his narrow face. He wasn’t handsome. Far from it. He was dwarfed by the entourage of hulking men that lounged in his office. But he filled the space with an air of authority that only privileged white men were capable of, a superior glare in his black eyes.

            “Who are you?” D’Angelo demanded.

            “Dean sent me,” Eggsy said, not offering his name. The more he could separate himself from men like D’Angelo, the better.

            “Not what I asked.” D’Angelo raised an eyebrow and waited pointedly, but Eggsy didn’t offer a name.

            He reached back. The men draped over the couch sat up, reaching for their guns, as Eggsy reached for the coke. He withdrew the brick and tossed it onto the desk.

            D’Angelo chuckled and picked up the brick. His mouth twisted it what he probably thought was a smirk, but really it just distorted his face into a Halloween mask.

            “Seems Dean provided this time,” D’Angelo said. He extracted a switch blade from his pocket and flicked it open. “Let’s see if it’s as good as he promised.”

            “The money?” Eggsy asked.

            “After I verify he didn’t just send me baby powder,” D’Angelo said and snapped his finger.

            One of the men got up and retrieved a scale from a bookcase, which lacked any kind of books. He set it down on the desk in front of D’Angelo, who then placed the brick on the scale to weight it.

            Eggsy glanced at the door. He didn’t want to stay there. He didn’t want to play any of these games. But he couldn’t leave without the money. He clenched his jaw and waited, anxiety filling his stomach.

            D’Angelo slit the brick down the center and slipped the knife in. He cut himself a small line of product on the blade and offered it to Eggsy.

            “Try it,” D’Angelo said.

            Eggsy stiffened. “I don’t do the merchandise.”

            “That wasn’t a request.” D’Angelo said.

            Large hands manacled his arms, wrenching them behind him. Eggsy jerked at the grip and shouted, “Get the fuck off me!”

            “If it’s pure, you won’t have a problem taking some,” D’Angelo said.

            “I told you, I don’t do it,” Eggsy snapped. The man behind him dragged him over to the desk and slammed him down, jamming the edge of the desk deep into his gut. Eggsy grunted, pain flaring through his stomach.

            D’Angelo held the blade up, right under his nose. “I won’t repeat myself again. You have two options my friend, and one ends with Dashiell breaking your arm.”

            For emphasis, Dashiell put weight on Eggsy’s arm, bending it until a lightning bolt shot through it. Eggsy cried out. “Okay!”

            Dashiell’s grip grew slack, but he didn’t release him. Eggsy looked up at D’Angelo, who observed him with the same self-satisfied triumph that Dean had when Eggsy returned. Boiling, white hot anger burned through Eggsy’s veins. Dashiell released one of Eggsy’s arms, and for a second Eggsy considered taking a swing, but he knew he wouldn’t make it out of the room alive, so he pressed his index finger to his nostril and snorted the coke.

            Fire erupted in his nasal cavity. He coughed, scrubbing at his nose to stop the fiery pulsing and deep digging itch.

            D’Angelo lowered the knife, flicking it closed, and Dashiell released Eggsy. Eggsy straightened, wiping his nose with the back of his arm, and said, “Good?”

            “Yeah, we’re good,” D’Angelo said and pocketed his knife.

            “Then give me my money.”

            “You’ve got a smart mouth on you,” D’Angelo said. “I can think of a few ways to occupy it.”

            Tension tightened Eggsy’s spine as warmness started to fill him, moving like the current of the ocean. He could feel Dashiell still behind him, a solid wall of flesh. D’Angelo snapped his fingers again and Eggsy braced for Dashiell to push him over the table, but he walked away and left the room.

            D’Angelo didn’t say anything while Dashiell was gone, he just watched Eggsy with inquisitive eyes. Eggsy found it hard to focus on him. His gaze kept jumping from D’Angelo to the other three men in the room. The floor thumped beneath his feet like a pulsing heart.

            Dashiell returned and handed Eggsy the money. Eggsy shoved it into the band of his pants, against his back.

            “Thanks,” Eggsy said.

            D’Angelo waved him off and Eggsy didn’t need another dismissal. He booked it out of there and down to the club, his body an electric wire. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he staggered, his vision swaying with the twirl of the lights. An excessive wealth of energy hummed through his veins and the gathering of bodies he’d been so apprehensive to approach before, now looked like a life line.

            Eggsy shook his head, trying to clear the muggy giddiness fogging over it. He elbowed his way to the exit.

            “I said leave me alone,” A familiar voice shouted.

            Eggsy stopped and turned to the sound. Tilde shoved some guy who looked like he was wearing his weight in gold chains. Eggsy glanced to the exit. His skin blistered with heat and knew if he went outside he’d clear his head.

            “Don’t be like that sweetheart,” The guy said and wrapped a hand around Tilde’s wrist as she started to turn away. “I saw you watching me.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not interested,” Tilde insisted.

            Eggsy licked his chapped lips. His hands twitched at his sides.

            “Really? So, than you were just leading me on?”

            “What are you talking about?” Tilde demanded.

            “Hey,” Eggsy shouted and walked over to where they stood near the bar.

            The guy looked at Eggsy with a sneer. “Piss off bruv.”

            “She said she wasn’t interested,” Eggsy said, not stopping his momentum. His words were distant, like he was underwater. Eggsy shoved the guy, forcing him away from Tilde. “So, get the fuck out of here.”

            “Eggsy?” Tilde’s voice sounded equally distant, above the water.

            Eggsy shook his head, trying to clear his brain. The guy looked at him, face ruddy with anger and drink. He straightened his jacket, chains glinting, and said, “I’m not warning you again. Fuck off, she’s mine.”

            Something snapped inside Eggsy. All the blackness. All the hurt and anger and sorrow and wretchedness the world had built. Everything that had plucked at him finally broke. Maybe it was the drugs that had loosened his rage. Maybe it was the desperation that clutched at his heart. Maybe it was the fact that he was so achingly numb and exhausted, tired of weathering this life, and he wanted something to make him feel alive.

            He threw the first punch. He wasn’t even fully aware of it. One minute he was standing there and the next he felt soft flesh and crunching bone relenting beneath his knuckles. The guy stumbled into his friend who’d been watching from the sidelines. He straightened, blood dripping from his mouth, and sneered at Eggsy.

            “Oh, you’re in for it,” The guy said. It was all he got out, because after the first punch, Eggsy didn’t stop.

            He threw another punch. And another. Over and over, a torrent of fists. They spilled onto the ground, the world tipping around Eggsy, and his knees hit the unforgiving concrete. He straddled the guy, pounding into him, his chest heaving with each punch.

            “Stop!” Tilde shouted, her hoarse voice piercing through the fog. Eggsy didn’t stop, not until someone dragged him off the guy.

            He bucked in the grip of whoever held him and screamed. Another guy, one of D’Angelo’s bouncers, picked up the guy that had been hitting on Tilde. He was unconscious, his face a sheet of blood. They dragged him to the back, out of sight.

            The bouncer holding Eggsy hauled him back to the steps. Tilde watched him with a horrified expression, tears glistening in her eyes.

            Eggsy craned his head around, glaring up at Dashiell. “Let me go!”

            Dashiell tossed Eggsy back into the office and he crumpled to the floor in a panting heap.

            “Here I thought you were just a yippy chihuahua,” D’Angelo said. Eggsy snapped his head up. Any signs of the cocaine had been removed. D’Angelo lounged in his seat, both of his feet propped on his desk. “But now I see you’re really a pit bull.”

            “I’m nobody’s mutt.” Eggsy snarled. He wasn’t a dog.

            D’Angelo tipped his head to the side, his smile never wavering. “You’re right, you’re not. You’re a jaguar.”

            Jaguar rolled off his tongue, dripping with a sickening hunger that left Eggsy shivering. Eggsy straightened, still shaky, and looked down at his split and bloody knuckles.

            “You just caused quite a mess,” D’Angelo said.

            “I did you a favor,” Eggsy countered, meeting D’Angelo’s stare. “He was trash.”

            “Maybe.” D’Angelo lowered his feet and turned so he could rest his arms on the desk. “What is your name, little jaguar?”

            Eggsy clenched his jaw and didn’t answer. D’Angelo smirked. “Defiant. That is okay, little jaguar.”

            “Don’t call me that,” Eggsy snapped.

            “You fight like a man who doesn’t fear death, _little jaguar_ ,” D’Angelo said, ignoring Eggsy’s order.

            “So?” Eggsy stood, tired of D’Angelo looking down at him. “What do you want?”

            “I want to make you a deal.” D’Angelo snapped his finger. Dashiell withdrew a small band of hundreds and handed it to Eggsy.

            Eggsy didn’t take it. He looked at D’Angelo apprehensively. “What is this?”

            “Consider it an incentive,” D’Angelo said, his smile widening until there was too much gum-to-teeth ratio. “I’m in need of a new fighter, and you, little jaguar, are the kind I’ve been looking for.”

            “Fighter?”

            “Yes. I can make you a lot of money, if you’re willing to fight for me,” D’Angelo said.

            Eggsy glanced at the money again. There was at least five hundred pounds there. He wasn’t going to pocket any from Dean.

            “How much we talking about?” Eggsy asked.

            “Thousands, if you can win,” D’Angelo said.

            Eggsy studied his knuckles. They hurt in a pleasant way that helped keep his mind clear. Thousands? It was more than he made at Harry’s. The thought of Harry made his heart sting and he quickly directed his thoughts away.

            He could keep saving. Get his mum out.

            He snatched the money from Dashiell. “Okay, when do I start?”

            D’Angelo grinned. He hadn’t doubted Eggsy’s acceptance. Men like him expected everyone to agree. He wasn’t any different than Dean. But it didn’t matter if D’Angelo was a good man. It didn’t matter if Harry would be disappointed in Eggsy for agreeing. All that mattered was that Eggsy could save some money. And if he was lucky, he wouldn’t think about how his heart kept breaking each day he didn’t see Harry.

* * *

            Tilde waited under a street lamp. The night had grown chilly. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he stepped out of Mint and walked over to her.

            “Why did you do that?” She asked. She hugged herself, a shiver running through her. Eggsy slipped off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

            “I don’t know,” Eggsy admitted. He just did. As prosaic as it was, he acted on instinct. “Are you okay?”

            “I should be asking you that. Did you get in trouble?” Worry creased her brow. Eggsy hadn’t seen her since he crashed at her place. It was funny to think that he was back at the beginning, back to trying another place to escape, and her she was offering him a reprieve from reality.

            “No,” Eggsy said.

            She reached down and took one of his hands in hers. Eggsy watched her, wishing something would stir in his stomach as she traced the cuts on his knuckles with her delicate fingers.

            “Idiot,” Tilde murmured.

            “Yeah,” Eggsy agreed.

            She didn’t let go of his hand. Her skin was soft and smooth, nothing like his own chapped hands, which cracked as he flexed them.

            “Do you want to come back to my place?” Tilde asked.

            Part of him did. Not because he wanted to be with her or because of any residual feelings, but simply to not go home, to not be near Dean, and to have another brief moment of nothingness.

            She’d let him. She’d let him take her back to her place, settle between her thighs, and sink into the warmth of her body. But Eggsy wouldn’t do that to her.

            “Sorry, I can’t,” Eggsy said, and it wasn’t a lie. If he didn’t make it back home, Dean would beat him within an inch of his life.

            Disappointment filled her eyes. She dropped his hand with a stiff nod. “Oh.”

            “I should go,” Eggsy said and slipped his hands back into the pockets of his jacket. “See you.”

            “Yeah,” Tilde said, and they both knew they wouldn’t. That what had passed between them all those weeks ago had been the fleeting whimsy of two humans needing another body.

            Eggsy walked off, but he didn’t return home. His feet carried him down the street, around the corner, and when he finally lifted his head, he found himself standing in front of Harry’s flat. The cold and slipped past his jacket and penetrated his soul. He stared at the dark windows. The lights were off, but that didn’t necessary mean Harry wasn’t home. He was notorious for not turning on the lights—why did he need to?

            It would be easy to walk up to the door. To apologize for walking away. To go home.

            Eggsy turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song List:
> 
> Fix You (PIano Cover) by Coldplay/Francesco Parrino


	4. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything leads back to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by [Shio](http://fyeahhartwin.tumblr.com/post/170613288295/lambent-sunlight-streamed-in-from-the-window-in).
> 
> Self-betaed
> 
>  **Music**  
>  _Love Reign O're Me_ by The Who  
>  _Going Home_ by Izumi Tanaka

D’Angelo contacted Eggsy a week later with a location. The fight would take place in an abandoned factory in the lower east side. Eggsy spent the first half of the morning delivering for Dean. His last drop off was an eight ball of coke to two business men in Kensington. One of them looked at Eggsy like he was a roach crawling on the wall, while his friend got handsy and tried to convince him to stay.

            He brought Dean the money, chump change compared to what he’d got from D’Angelo, and then headed down to the factory. The crumbling façade looked inconspicuous. Eggsy almost thought he was at the wrong place until he spotted a guard at the door, ushering in a small group of people.

            The guard eyed Eggsy up and down as he approached. “Name.”

            “Eggsy,” he said, then as an afterthought added, “Little Jaguar.”

            The guard grunted and let him in. “D’Angelo is waiting for you in the back.”

            Nerves hadn’t set in while Eggsy walked to the factory, but now that he was inside and the reality of everything began to set in, his stomach cramped.

            Roars of rage and incitement filled the factory in a cacophony of noise. A large crowd encompassed a makeshift ring, where two shirtless men twice Eggsy’s size fought. Eggsy squeezed past a sweaty group of men shaking their fists in the air and shouting, and headed to the back where he spotted another guard.

            The guard, one of D’Angelo’s goonies, nodded Eggsy back. D’Angelo had taken residency in an old office. When Eggsy walked in, he turned away from the fighter he was talking to and grinned.

            “The prodigal son has arrived,” D’Angelo said, opening his arms wide. To the fighter, whose face was swollen and bloody, D’Angelo snapped, “Get out of my sight. You better win the next fight, or you won’t be winning anymore ever again. Understood?”

            The man nodded and hastily booked it out of the room. Eggsy watched him go and wished he could turn back and flee.

            What had he gotten himself into?

            “Come here Little Jaguar,” D’Angelo said, gesturing for Eggsy to come closer.

            Eggsy cautiously approached, flinching when D’Angelo dragged him into his hold by slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Tonight will be your opening night, Little Jaguar.”

            “Eggsy,” he supplied uselessly.

            “Your name is what I say it is,” D’Angelo warned and Eggsy nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Good. Now, you’ll be going up against Pretty Ricky. Of course, he isn’t so pretty anymore.”

            D’Angelo laughed at his own joke and it took all of Eggsy’s will power not to roll his eyes. He wished D’Angelo would let him go, but the man’s grip only tightened, his fingers digging into his bicep.

            “Now, you go out there and win this fight. I don’t want to tell you what happens if you don’t, you understand?”

            “Yeah, I hear you,” Eggsy said.

            D’Angelo released him, but Eggsy could still feel his slimy grip, even as he walked back out to the main space. The lingering stench of sweat and piss permeated the space. Eggsy moved around to watch the last bit of the current fight.

            It was over in a few punches, the victor a little larger than Eggsy, but nothing obscenely large. The man on the floor didn’t get up and two men came out to drag him away. Blood smeared the concrete slab floor.

            The space cleared and a man dressed in slick threads and an Adidas snapback pulled low on his head stepped into the ring. Eggsy watched cautiously from the sidelines as the man raised his hands. The crowd went silent, but an energy still crackled through the air.

            Bright florescent lights hung over head, illuminating the factory. Spots danced in front of Eggsy’s eyes. It dawned on him that this was it, there was no turning back. A ringing started in his ears. He glanced around the crowded room, acutely aware of the bodies shuffling around him. Heat radiated from them. Sweat dewed on his forehead.

            Suddenly, he felt dozens of eyes on him. He looked up, realizing his name had been called.

            A path formed in the parted crowd. Eggsy walked onto the ring. The announcer frowned at him, but continued on, calling in Eggsy’s opponent with grandeur and pomp.

            Pretty Ricky wasn’t a huge man, but he certainly dominated Eggsy in weight class. Eggsy absently noted he wasn’t wearing a shirt, revealing rippling muscles and intricate ink work. He flexed his arms, straining the tattoos that covered his biceps. D’Angelo wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t pretty anymore—his face looked like a blender had been taken to it.

            “Are you ready?” The announcer asked.

            “Uh, hold on,” Eggsy said, fumbling to remove his hat and jacket. He tossed them off to the side and hauled his shirt over his head. It earned a laugh from the crowd and a confused look from his opponent. Eggsy tossed his shirt over with his jacket and nodded. “Right, ready.”

            No, he wasn’t.

            “Fight!” The announcer called with a drop of his arms and walked out of the ring.

            Pretty Ricky went straight for Eggsy. Eggsy dodged, slipping away before he could grab on. They circled, sizing one another up. Tension brewed with rolling thunder. The crowd screamed for blood—Eggsy’s blood—and Eggsy knew it would come.

            Pretty Ricky caught him with a punch to the jaw, followed immediately by a second one in the gut. Eggsy staggered, the air knocked from his lungs. He lunged, trying to tackle Pretty Ricky at the waist, but it was like trying to pull down a tree with his bare hands. He laughed and dragged Eggsy off, delivering series of punches that sent Eggsy flat on his back.

            “Fuck,” Eggsy groaned and rolled over, spitting blood onto the concrete. Sweat dripped down his nose. His hair clung to his forehead and fell in his eyes.

            He looked up, meeting D’Angelo’s disgusted stare. Fury twisted his mouth and he sneered at Eggsy, signaling for him to get up.

            Pain throbbed everywhere. Eggsy couldn’t pinpoint one spot. His entire body was just one aching mass. Pretty Ricky had landed a solid punch to Eggsy’s ribs and he was pretty sure one of them was cracked. Each strained breath sent a flare of agony rippling through his chest.

            He pushed himself onto this knees and hands. Blood and saliva dribbled from his open mouth.

            “Pussy,” Pretty Ricky goaded. “Can’t even last five minutes.”

            Eggsy grit his teeth. Losing wasn’t an option. Not if he wanted to get out from under Dean’s thumb. Not if he wanted to save his mum and Daisy.

            D’Angelo made it clear what would happen if he lost. And Eggsy wasn’t ready to end things here, with his face smeared on the shit-stained concrete.

            He climbed to his feet shakily and turned to face Pretty Ricky. Anger bubbled in his stomach and he latched onto it.

            “Fuck you.” Eggsy spat a glob of blood at Pretty Ricky’s feet.

            He wasn’t a pussy. He wasn’t a bitch. He wasn’t the loser that everyone kept labeling him as.

            And he wouldn’t be another punching bag.

            A numbness washed over him. It cleared away the anxiety tearing through his stomach and blanketed over his mind, silencing the doubt that had plagued him as soon as he entered the factory. All that was left was the boiling hot anger that constantly simmered beneath the surface.

            Eggsy took a hold of it, dragged it up like he was pulling the fires from hell, and unleashed it.

            He darted forward, lightning quick, and pivoted out of the way at the last minute, dodging Pretty Ricky. He struck like a viper, landing a punch to his solar plexus, followed by a second to the face.

Pretty Ricky staggered but held his footing.

            Eggsy didn’t relent.

            Men with nothing to lose didn’t know when to stop, and Eggsy was a man without any options.

            Pretty Ricky had him beat in size, but Eggsy had speed on his side. Years of parkour allowed him to move stealthy around Pretty Ricky. He ghosted out of each attack, following with a strike of his own, until he finally saw his opening and brought him down.

            Pretty Ricky fell like a tree, landing hard on his back and gasping.

            Eggsy launched onto him, a folly of fists coming down, pounding and beating. He screamed. Or someone screamed. He didn’t know which. He couldn’t hear anything over the blood in his ears. But he kept hitting, even as flesh gave away beneath his knuckles.

            It wasn’t until he was dragged off, panting and kicking, that he realized Pretty Ricky was unconscious. Just like in the club, his face was a sheet of blood, his nose a pulpy mess, and a tooth lay on the floor near his head.

            Eggsy looked down at his bloody hands.

            “We have a victor,” The announcer said, grabbing Eggsy’s hand and raising his arm.

            Eggsy stared out at the cheering crowd. It’d been only moments ago they’d jeered at him, but now they cried out ‘Jaguar’—much to Eggsy’s chagrin—as if he were the second coming.

            Everything after the fight is a blur. His anger has turned into a ringing in his ears—but then again, that may be from the few punches he took to the face. D’Angelo appeared at his side at one point and looked thrilled. At some point money exchangeed hands and Eggsy pocketed a cold thousand.

            D’Angelo gave him another time to show up, a few days from then. Eggsy nodded and left, slipping out into the night with a sore jaw and an aching side. He could still taste the coppery blood on his tongue. It was almost three in the morning and Eggsy didn’t know if it’d be wiser to go home or lay low. He didn’t want to wake Dean and rouse suspicion.

            He ended up at Brandon’s door. His mum opened, disgruntled and half-asleep. She took one look at him and sent him back to Brandon’s room, who was spread out like a starfish on his bed, his sheets tangled around his waist.

            “What the fuck happened to you, bruv?” Brandon asked when Eggsy shook him awake.

            “Got into a bit of a tussle,” Eggsy said.

            “Dean?”

            He shook his head. “No, not this time.”

            Brandon sighed and hefted himself up. “Well, come on. Let’s get you cleaned up so we can go to bed.”

            Eggsy let Brandon drag him into the bathroom, following like a lost child as he was steered towards the toilet and sat down. Brandon got the first aid kit and retrieved a bottle of alcohol.

            “So, who did this?” Brandon asked. “You look like someone turned you into a punching bag.” When Eggsy held up his knuckles, Brandon hissed. “Shite, I guess you gave as good as you got?”

            “You could say that,” Eggsy mumbled and winced when he dabbed an alcohol damp cloth to the cut on his face.

            It wasn’t so long ago that Harry had done the same thing. The thought left him hollow and he flexed his fingers to distract himself.

            “So?” Brandon prompted as he worked.

            “I picked up a gig,” Eggsy said, studying his split knuckles. He didn’t know if the blood was his or Pretty Ricky’s. He really hoped he didn’t get some disease from this. Maybe he should invest in some bandages or gloves.

            “A gig,” Brandon said. He finished on Eggsy’s face, smoothing a bit of plaster on his cheek. “Give me your hands.”

            Eggsy held up his hands and Brandon rinsed them with the alcohol. Eggsy hissed, wrenching his hands back. “Fuck.”

            “Baby,” Brandon teased, though worry filled his eyes. He wiped away the blood. “What kind of gig?”

            “Fighting,” Eggsy mumbled. He could already sense the disapproval.

            “Bruv…”

            “It’s good money,” Eggsy said before Brandon launched into a diatribe about how this was a bad idea. Eggsy knew it was. He wasn’t stupid. But he was sitting on a grand from one fight. With that kind of money, he could have his mum out in a couple months.

            “Yeah, but is it worth it?” Brandon asked. He finished wrapping Eggsy’s hands. “Anywhere else?”

            Eggsy’s ribs still hurt, but he shook his head. Brandon sighed and packed away the kit.

            “It’s worth it,” Eggsy said as Brandon crouched down and put the first aid kit back under the sink. He glanced over his shoulder at Eggsy, and Eggsy hated the sad expression he gave him.

            “Come on, let’s go to bed,” Brandon said.

            Eggsy nodded and followed Brandon into his room. They didn’t speak, and Eggsy was okay with that. He didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to sleep and forget about everything. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his boxers. Brandon scooted over towards the wall, allowing Eggsy to climb in.

            They started off with enough space between them to fit another person, but by the time morning came, Eggsy found himself curled around Brandon.

* * *

            “Eggsy,” His mum said when he walked out of his room. She studied him with a critical eye, her gaze catching on the bruise painting the side of his face. Neither commented, but a softness settled over her and when Eggsy stepped in front of her, Michelle caressed his cheek.

            “Tea?” Eggsy offered and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on the hob. Michelle hummed agreeably.

            Daisy sat in her pack-and-play, contenting herself with some toys Eggsy had bought they day after the fight. He smiled at her, his chest swelling at the sight of her enjoying herself. Dean had pissed off somewhere, leaving the three of them in peace for a few hours.

            “Eggs, come here,” Michelle said. Eggsy left the kettle to boil and went to sit beside her on the couch.

            He really hoped she wasn’t about to ask about his injuries. It’d been a few days since the fight. Dean had immediately brushed him off, snorting a sarcastic comment. His mum had teared up and Eggsy felt like a right wanker upsetting her, but he reminded himself why he did it.

            “Everything okay?”

            Michelle didn’t answer immediately and a spike of anxiety shot through Eggsy. She twisted her hands together, her fingers twitching, and glanced at the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. To his surprise, she didn’t take them. Instead, she rested her hand on her stomach and blurted out, “I want to keep the baby.”

            Eggsy blinked slowly. They hadn’t spoken about it since the day she confided in him, but it hadn’t left the back of Eggsy’s mind. The possibility that he could have another sibling only strengthened his resolve.

            “You’re sure?” Eggsy asked.

            Michelle nodded, apprehension still creasing her eyes. “Yes,” Michelle whispered. “But… I can’t do it alone. I know… babe, I know it’s a lot to ask. You’ve done so much. But—”

            “Don’t worry,” Eggsy said and enveloped her in a hug. He cradled her body against his, ignoring the ache in his side. “I’ll take care of everything.”

            Michelle wrapped her arms around him and clutched onto his back with a shudder. “Eggsy…”

            “Everything will be okay mum,” Eggsy whispered, though he honestly didn’t know if it would. But if he had any doubt about what he was doing, he knew it didn’t matter anymore. He needed to get Michelle away from Dean before she had the baby.

* * *

            When he’d been with Harry, the routine of their daily life counted his days in bliss. Even with the repetition of chores, Eggsy had basked in the comfort and familiarity. Now his days were marked by drug runs for Dean and fights for D’Angelo. Every time he looked at his reflection there was a new bandage. If Dean suspected anything, he didn’t say. Eggsy doubted he cared.

            A few weeks in to running for Dean, Eggsy found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. The only reason his brains hadn’t been painted on the wall behind him was because of his quick tongue. It didn’t save him from having his ass beat the next day by one of Dean’s disgruntled clients.

            Eggsy slept most of his days away from a combination of exhaustion and lack of desire. He’d forgotten what it felt like to not hurt, both physically and emotionally, and his only solution to dulling the pain was sleeping and fighting. He navigated his wakeful hours numb, driven by a single thought of ‘take care of them’, until it came time to fight, and then he poured all of his pent up anger in frustration into a storm of fists that chewed through whoever he went against.

            Brandon offered solace when Eggsy fought. It became a new routine for Eggsy to go to his place in the evenings after a fight. Brandon tended to his wounds, the disapproval growing each time, and then they went to bed. They always started miles apart and ended with Eggsy clutched to him.

            The feel of another body against his offered a small amount of solace, but it wasn’t Harry. It wasn’t what he wanted.

            Eggsy stood in front of Harry’s door, weighing the spare key in his hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself at Harry’s door step. His feet carried him there every night after he finished for Dean.

            It would be easy to go inside. All he had to do was unlock the door and step in. He’d call out to Harry “I’m home” and be welcomed with open arms.

            Eggsy replayed the image in his head. It was a movie reel set to loop. He could smell the wood polish and cologne. He could hear the creaking of the floor boards as Harry moved upstairs. He could feel the press of the banister against his forehead as he listened to Harry play the piano. The memories were there, ready for him to take and make real.

            But he didn’t.

            Did Harry change the locks? He didn’t want to find out. He didn’t want to know if the final connection he had with Harry had been removed.

Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe if it was acceptance. Whatever it was, he turned away and left, unwilling to discover if Harry had left the light on for him. He went to the next fight with a new anger burning in his heart and used it to fuel him.

            Tonight’s fight was with a man named Tone. He was stacked like all of Eggsy’s opponents, a bull who rampaged in the ring, determined to gore Eggsy on his fists.

            Eggsy delivered a solid punch, but it was countered with one from Tone. His head spun as he fell back into the crowd, caught by grimy hands that shoved him into the ring. He blinked, shaking his head, and looked past Tone to where D’Angelo scrutinized their battle. It wasn’t the first time Eggsy hadn’t been sure he’d win.

            Every victory brought the stakes higher. Every victory brought a stronger opponent.

            He was Icarus flying too close to the sun. He could feel the wax dripping down his back. But what no one ever said was that if he flew too low, he’d be taken by the waves. No matter what he did, Eggsy knew it all led to the same place.

            He was just going to have to do all he could for his family until that time.

            Eggsy launched into his next attack. A jaguar stalking through the jungle. He moved swiftly, going low to counter Tone’s lumbering form, and swept his feet out from under him. He leapt onto him, straddling his waist with his thighs.

            It was a blur of limbs. Eggsy felt a sucker punch to his side that he knew re-damaged his mending ribs. He slammed his fists down, but Tone didn’t relent like the others, didn’t cave under his rampage.

            Suddenly Eggsy was air born. He hit the ground on his arm and it went numb. He gasped, blood dribbling from his mouth, and stared out at the crowd.

            He shoved to his feet and wiped his mouth with his shoulder, smearing a streak of red across it. He was really lucky he still had his teeth.

            Eggsy considered his options. Tone had him beat in almost every department except agility. It was the same thing. Big men with slow bodies. But what they lacked in speed, they made up for with brute force and indominable strength.

            But every wall could be torn down. It didn’t matter how large or solid it was. Eggsy only needed to find the weak point.

            Tone went for him again and he dodged, spinning out of the way. Sweat dripped down his body, irritating bruises he couldn’t even see.

            The factory they had was littered with abandoned equipment. The ring was in an open space, lined with cement blocks that created a barrier.

            Eggsy sprinted to one of the larger blocks, using it as a platform to launch off of as Tone barreled towards him. He flipped in the air and wrapped his legs around Tone’s neck, locking his thighs in place. With the momentum of the flip, he brought Tone down. Pain rippled down Eggsy’s side, but he didn’t let up on his pressure.

            Tone scratched at his legs, his nails slipping over his jeans. Eggsy released him only when his hands dropped down, slack.

            Someone checked Tone’s pulse, confirming he was alive, and dragged him off. Eggsy stood, nursing his right shoulder. Nausea buoyed in his throat. He swallowed it down as his injured arm was raised.

            In the back of the factory, D’Angelo handed him his money and said, “You did good, Little Jaguar.”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy grunted. He was pretty sure he dislocated his shoulder. He’d need Brandon to pop it back in.

            “Next week there’s a big fight. I want you there,” D’Angelo said. “You’ll walk away with more cash than you can imagine.”

            “And what’s the catch?” Eggsy asked, because there was always a catch.

            D’Angelo smirked. “It’s blood sport style. Opponents get one weapon. Last person standing wins.”

            Ice flooded Eggsy’s veins. “I don’t have a death wish.”

            “This is the big one. I’m not talking about the chump change you just pocketed.”

Eggsy snorted. For a man like D’Angelo, who could throw away twenty-five grand on coke, a thousand probably seemed like a drop in the bucket. To Eggsy, it was a ticket to something better.

“How much are we talking?”

“You’ll get a £100,000,” D’Angelo said and Eggsy choked on his saliva.

“Are you fucking serious?” Eggsy whispered. “You aren’t taking the piss?”

“You win, it’s yours,” D’Angelo said. “You lose… well, not my problem.”

That would be more than enough to get out from under Dean. More than enough to start over. To get his mum and Daisy out of her. To go somewhere other than London. They could move to Penmon, where his mum and da used to take him on Holiday. Or even leave England all together. Go far away. Eggsy could put Daisy in school. He could even buy a small little piano, an upright one like Harry’s.

Eggsy blinked, his chest aching at the thought.

Could he see Harry again?

“Are you in?” D’Angelo asked.

“Yeah, I’m in,” Eggsy said, meeting his gaze.

* * *

            “This is a bad idea,” Brandon said. “You can’t do it Eggsy.”

            “Don’t got a choice, do I bruv?” Eggsy said. He sat on the toilet in Brandon’s bathroom, rolling shoulder. Brandon had just popped it back in and it took all of his willpower not to scream and wake the whole damn house.

            “You’ll die,” Brandon stated.

            “We’re all going to sometime,” Eggsy said flippantly and stood. “I’m tired. Can I crash here?”

            A frustrated sound escaped Brandon, but he nodded.

            Eggsy wasn’t stupid. He knew what was at risk. He knew that he was likely going to be fucking killed. But he hadn’t lost yet, and he didn’t plan on starting. £100,000 could change everything. It could rewrite history.

            Eggsy wasn’t going to throw that chance away.

            Besides, what else did he have? Nothing.

            One way or another he was going down. It’d either be in the fight or running for Dean. At least if it was this way, it was on Eggsy’s terms.

            Brandon didn’t sleep across the mattress that night. He dragged Eggsy against him, his face pressed into his back. Eggsy didn’t resist. He clutched onto Brandon’s hand, wishing deep down it was Harry who cradled him close.

            “You’re a fucking idiot,” Brandon whispered into the back of his neck.

            “I know,” Eggsy said.

            They fell asleep in each other’s arms, neither willing to face one another.

* * *

            “This is short,” Dean said and threw the notes down. “Are you skimming on me Muggsy?”

            “That’s how much they paid me,” Eggsy said, sweat prickling the back of his neck. Dean lumbered over him.

            What if Eggsy just punched him? He’d taken out men larger than Dean over the last few weeks. And Dean was fat and lethargic from too much drink and too much smoke.

            Even as Eggsy thought it, he cowered back, avoiding Dean’s hands as he reached for him.

            “Well someone fucked up,” Dean said, snatching Eggsy by his collar. He leaned in close, his breath curling against Eggsy’s face. It reeked of cigarettes and garlic. “And it’s you who’s paying. You get the rest of my money. I don’t care how you do it. Pay for it with your arse for all I care. But you don’t come back until you got it, understood?”

            He shoved Eggsy away. Eggsy stumbled and glanced around the room. His mum had left with Daisy to run an errand, leaving Eggsy with Dean and his mutts. Eggsy straightened his shirt and left.

            “Fucking prick,” Eggsy grumbled as he stormed down the stairs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

            The money was right. Dean just wanted a reason to kick up a fuss. Eggsy counted it. He always counted it, because he didn’t want to get screwed over, just like now.

            Anger boiled in his belly. Why didn’t he punch Dean? One punch, that was all it would take.

            Eggsy sniffed. One day. Soon. Eggsy just needed to bide his time a little longer.

            He’d get some of the money he squirrelled away to cover the ‘missing’ amount. It wasn’t much, and with a cool 100,000 coming in, Eggsy could afford it.

            Let Dean lord over him. His rule would be coming to an end.

            Eggsy looked up and realized he’d walked all the way to Harry’s house. He didn’t even know how long he’d been wandering. His ears were cold. No one was on the street, but it was well into the night now. His mum had probably already come home.

            Eggsy stared up at the flat, the key still in his pocket. He never removed it, afraid that when he did, that really would be it.

            He should give them back.

            It wasn’t like he could ever come back here.

            The life he’d built with Harry was over. It never even really existed. It had all been a game of pretend. They’d been children playing at happiness. It was time for it to end and for Eggsy to return to the real world.

            Eggsy pulled out the key and stared at them. Funny how something so small could mean so much. Eggsy closed his fingers around it and squeezed tight, until the key dug into his palm. Maybe he could adsorb it. Then he’d never have to lose this.

            “Brandon’s right,” Eggsy whispered. “I really am an idiot.”

            He approached the door. The outside light was on, illuminating the front stoop. The frame had been fixed from where Dean’s boys had damaged it.

            Even when Dean was gone, Eggsy could never come back to this.

            As much as Eggsy wanted to convince himself otherwise, he knew it deep down. The only way to be free of Dean would be to leave.

            It was time to let go.

            Tears burned the back of his eyes.

            He strained to listen to the silence. He thought he heard a piano, but he couldn’t tell. The light above buzzed and from somewhere in the dark a dog barked.

            Eggsy crouched down and slipped the key under the rug.

            The door opened and Eggsy jerked his head up, staring at Harry. Harry stood in the doorway, backlit by the foyer, and stared blankly into the dark.

            “Hello?” Harry called.

            Eggsy sucked in a sharp breath.

            “Eggsy, is that you?” Harry asked, then whispered hopefully, “Darling.”

            A sob clawed up Eggsy’s throat. He clenched his teeth to hold it back. He stood cautiously, taking a careful step backwards. Harry continued to stare out into the night, clutching onto the doorframe.

            “Eggsy, my darling boy. Come home,” Harry said. “I’m not mad.”

            Eggsy squeezed his eyes shut.

“Please darling,” Harry continued, a note of desperation seizing his voice. “We can figure this out together. You don’t have to face it alone.”

All he had to do was go in. Harry stood there, his mouth contorted into a deep frown. Eggsy reached for him, his hand hovering in the air.

            Harry turned away in defeat and closed the door with a click. Eggsy dropped his hand, his knees giving out, and sunk to the ground.

            It shouldn’t be this hard to quit a person.

            He’d only known Harry for a short time.

            So why did it feel like his heart had been ripped from his chest?

* * *

            Eggsy never thought missing Harry could hurt like this. It was a hollowness that rung inside him in agonizing ripples he felt deep in his core, straight to the coils of his DNA. It was there in the quiet of the night the same way phantom pains tortured an amputee. It dulled the throbbing on the side of his face. Eggsy wanted it to end but he didn’t know how to make it stop.

            Brandon returned to the room and handed Eggsy a beer. Eggsy had come over under the pretense to get the money for Dean, but the truth was he just didn’t want to be alone. For one night, he wanted to pretend that there was someone out there that loved him.

Eggsy looked up at him and thought, _just for tonight it could end_.

            He set the beer on the nightstand and took Brandon by his hand. Brandon didn’t resist when Eggsy pulled him onto the bed. He covered Eggsy with his body. The fluttering in Eggsy’s chest didn’t subside. He kissed Brandon through the racing beats of his heart.

            Brandon tasted like forgetting and beer. They watched each other through rasping breaths of air and chapped kisses. Brandon pressed him into the mattress the same way Eggsy imagined Harry would. Eggsy closed his eyes and tried to let go, but Brandon’s mouth found his bruises, found his scrapes, and reminded Eggsy that he wasn’t Harry.

            Eggsy didn’t stop Brandon when he peeled down his trousers and boxers. He didn’t stop him when slicked fingers pressed in. Didn’t stop when he rocked into Eggsy. He clung to Brandon, held him tight, like he could somehow reclaim himself the deeper he dug his nails into his back.

            When it was over, Eggsy rolled onto his side, facing away from Brandon. Brandon stoked his back, tracing the constellation of moles and freckles between his shoulders.

            “You didn’t want it,” Brandon whispered.

            Eggsy’s throat thickened with snot and tears. He swallowed around a lump and whispered hoarsely, “No.”

            Brandon kissed his shoulder, letting his lips hover there, and Eggsy wished to god that he had. A few months ago, Eggsy would have. But now, now Harry ruined him.

            He could still hear Harry calling to him.

            _Eggsy, my darling boy. Come home._

            “I’m sorry,” Eggsy whispered and looked over his shoulder.

            Brandon shook his head. “Don’t be. Maybe if I hadn’t run away for so long.”

            Eggsy choked on a sob and rolled around so he faced Brandon. Brandon pulled him close, tucking Eggsy under his chin.

            “Is it the bloke you worked for?” Brandon asked.

            Eggsy wanted to say no, but Brandon deserved to know. He nodded, inhaling the salty musk of his skin.

            Brandon sighed, his breath teasing the strands of hair on the top of Eggsy’s head. “You really know how to bugger things up, don’t you bruv?”

            That was an understatement.

            Eggsy laughed, a wrecked sound that came from deep in his gut, and said, “I didn’t plan on it.”

            “What are you going to do?”

            “Nothing,” Eggsy murmured. “It’s over.”

            “Then why are you holding on?”

            Because he couldn’t let go. Because even though he walked away, he never let Harry go.

* * *

            When Eggsy thought about it, when he considered the choices he made and the paths he’d taken, he wondered how it led to this. Night fell over London in a shadow. There weren’t any stars, only the dome of the light-polluted sky and red pressed blackness.

            Rain fell in a heavy drizzle and if Eggsy closed his eyes, he could pretend he stood at the cliffs of Penmon Point.

            He wanted to stay outside in the rain. He could still hear Brandon’s voice in the back of his head, begging him not to go.

            _“Don’t do it, bruv. You’ll die.”_

Maybe.

            But he was going to die one way or another. Dean wouldn’t let him live. He’d take what he wanted and then discard Eggsy once his use ran out. At least this way it would be at Eggsy’s terms—Eggsy had control on when it ended.

            He clenched his fist and walked towards the warehouse. It’d become familiar to nod to the bouncer, to pass through the raging crowd, to find his way to the back where D’Angelo waited to offer a pep talk of ‘don’t lose or I’ll break your knee caps’.

            A tension built between Eggsy’s shoulders, screwed tighter with the urgency of the end. He could taste freedom the same way a starving man could taste food. The ghost of it lingered on his tongue and drove him forward.

            D’Angelo finished a call as Eggsy arrived. He hung up and pocketed his iPhone. “Are you ready?”

            “Sure,” Eggsy said and shrugged out of his soaked jacket.

            “Good, because you’re next little jaguar. Not getting nervous?” D’Angelo scrutinized Eggsy, no doubt trying to sniff out any hint of cowardice brewing in Eggsy.

            “No,” Eggsy stated and stripped out of his shirt and snapback. He removed a roll of bandages he brought with him and wrapped his knuckles. “I got this, okay?”

            “Damn straight you do,” D’Angelo said and stepped in front of Eggsy and took his chin his hand. “I’ve got a lot of money riding on you. You make me proud, you hear me?”

            Eggsy gave two shits about making D’Angelo proud, but he nodded. D’Angelo patted his cheek and dropped his hand.

            “Your opponent is Jason ‘The Shadow’ Moretti,” D’Angelo said. “He hasn’t lost a fight yet.”

            “Neither have I.” Eggsy finished his bandages and flexed his fingers. “And I don’t plan on starting.”

            D’Angelo smirked and tipped his head in the direction of the door. “Then go bring me some money.”

            Eggsy turned towards the door. The crowd screamed on the other side. They rampaged as the fight came to an end. The skin on the back of Eggsy’s neck prickled. He stared down at his hands, at the bandages covering his cracked palms. He curled his fingers shut.

            _You can do this._

_Daisy and mum. You’re doing this for them. For mum’s baby._

Even as he told himself it, it was Harry’s image that appeared in his mind, sitting at the piano. If Eggsy shut off his mind and listened, he could hear him playing. He was transported back to the spot on the stairs he’d sit at, head against the banister, and listened to Harry.

            The world had been small then. It had existed only in that moment, in the space between the notes, and in the infiniteness of happiness.

            Even if it was only a couple months ago, it now felt like a lifetime. Eggsy needed to let go, needed to forget his limerence and the music, focus on the fight ahead. But he stood there and he listened.

            The door banged open and Eggsy opened his eyes. A man was dragged in, covered in blood and half-dead on his feet. It occurred to Eggsy that this was the victor.

            He looked away as the man was dragged over to a bench and went out. The announcer called him into the ring. He never made any fanfare of it. He wasn’t there to entertain.

            Jason—Eggsy refused to refer to him as ‘The Shadow’—was already in the ring. Eggsy wasn’t surprised to see that he was large and built solid. He had muscles Eggsy could only dream of having and wore his scars like badges of honor. He grinned at Eggsy from across the ring, a self-satisfied look in his eyes.

            “No rules, blood sport style,” The announcer explained, as if the crowd hadn’t just watched the same thing. The blood hadn’t even been fully cleaned from the floor.

            The first tendril of doubt curled around the back of Eggsy’s brain. He swallowed thickly and glanced around the crowd. All men who threw their ham hock fists in the air, faces red and sweaty. They were the same as Dean. Men who took and took, who didn’t care about the people they step on or the lives they took.

            Eggsy was still caught in the same damn game, it was just a different player.

            “Each opponent gets one weapon. The Shadow chooses first,” The announcer said and held up a bag for him to select from.

            Jason withdrew a colored chip from the black bag and the announcer called, “We have a chainlock!”

            The slow doubt plummeted in his stomach, turning to icy dread that filled his veins. Jason was brought a long chain with a heavy padlock at the end. Eggsy eyed the makeshift weapon, trying to gauge it’s reach.

            The announcer shook the bag in front of Eggsy and he reached it. His fingers glided over the smooth chips. He dug deep, thumb slipping along ridges, and secured one at the bottom. He pulled it out. Orange.

            “Trench knife,” The announcer said.

            Fuck.

            It wasn’t a bad weapon, but it meant Eggsy had to get in close to do any real damage. Eggsy would have to disarm Jason before he could do anything, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to get a hit in.

            A knife was brought to him. The hilt had brass knuckles attached and the thick blade was reminiscent of a bowie knife, serrated at the end and long. Eggsy weighed it in his hand and gave it a few testing swipes before he stepped back, trying to put as much distance between himself and Jason.

            The announcer looked between him, hand raised in the air, and shouted, “Begin!”

            He slipped out of the ring and the shouts filled the room. Jason immediately swung the chainlock and Eggsy ducked, narrowly dodging the padlock.

            There was a difference in fighting and street fighting. Unspoken rules were universally accepted and respected in a traditional fight. A code of honor that men upheld, even as they throwed down. Street fighting discarded those rules and opened the flood gates. There wasn’t anything elegant or honorable in the violence. It was harsh and cruel, taking without consideration, and it left nothing in return.

            Even then, though, there had been a small thread of control. The knowledge that no matter how hard he struck, no matter how strong his opponent was, he would walk away.

            Now that safety net had been removed and Eggsy stared straight into the eyes of God, praying that he didn’t plummet to the earth.

            The fight wasn’t about attacking. The unhinged rage Eggsy channeled before would only bring him certain death. He couldn’t call on it to overpower his opponent. He needed to wait, to dodge until an opportunity arose.

            The crowd didn’t like his method. They wanted blood. They wanted carnage. They wanted Eggsy smeared across the floor with a broken jaw and blood leaking from his cracked open body. They spewed vitriol as fire burned in their eyes and Eggsy was reminded of demons waving pitchforks.

            Eggsy never took his eyes off Jason. He shut out the crowd. Turned off their noise until all he heard was the blood in his ears and the harsh intake and exhale of his breath. He twisted out of another swing, leaning back as the padlock grazed past the tip of his chin. Sweat rolled down his nose and dripped into his mouth.

            He should have been thinking about his mum and Daisy, but faced with the cold steel of death, the only face that conjured in his mind was Harry’s.

            He threw his body out of the way, flipping backwards and gaining a few extra feet between himself and Jason. Jason’s face reddened the longer he couldn’t get a blow in.

            Jason was all brutal force. He was a hurricane hitting the land. Everything he touched was destroyed as he blew hard, but eventually he would run out of steam. Eggsy just needed hold out long enough until then.

            He stepped back, his back grazing the crowd. They shoved back, trying to propel him into Jason and the tornado of his chainlock.

            Jason hurled the padlock, clutching onto the thick chain. It jingled, a metallic dirge. Eggsy felt the impact in his shoulder and clenched his jaw to keep from crying out.

            Excitement lit Jason’s eyes. He called the padlock back with a jerk of his arm. Eggsy rolled his shoulder, knowing there’d be a nasty bruise, and treaded backwards. He glanced down, an idea popping in his head.

            Jason stood wide a part, balancing his girth on tree trunk legs, leaving an open for Eggsy to slip through. Without thinking about it, Eggsy launched towards Jason.

            Jason swung the chainlock above his head like a lasso and once more hurled it at Eggsy. It passed over Eggsy’s head as he dropped to the cement floor and slid across it through a slick of blood. As he passed between Jason’s legs, he slashed out with his trench knife and cut a deep line in Jason’s inner thigh.

            He missed the femoral artery he was aiming for, and he knew it when the spray of blood didn’t hit him. The cut did cause Jason to bellow in pain and disrupt his gate, but it also meant he wasn’t out of the game.

            Eggsy fluidly got to his feet and squeezed his hand around the trench knife. He raised his hands, slipping into a defensive position. Jason twisted around, bringing the chainlock with him. It strucked Eggsy’s forearm and coiled around it. Jason pulled, constricting the chain, and jerked until Eggsy was hauled to him.

            When Eggsy was a boy, he never had video games. One of his friends, Moses, had a Sega and they’d go to his house to play Mortal Kombat. Eggsy wondered if this was what it was like to be dragged forward by Scorpion’s barb.

            Jason’s fists were too fast for Eggsy to dodge. A rapid succession of steely bone that blurred Eggsy’s vision. His face erupted with blinding white-hot pain, followed by a hard impact to his solar plexus that knocked the air from his lungs. Jason delivered a final blow that sent Eggsy on his back and his head spinning.

            The crowd jeered. Hungry cries for Jason to finish him.

            Eggsy reached for the trench knife that had been knocked from his hand. His fingers slipped along cold concrete and across a sticky, damp spot.

            Jason loomed over Eggsy, dangling the padlock back and forth like a pendulum, counting the seconds until he brought Eggsy’s end.

            Blood filled Eggsy’s mouth. It was hard to breathe, probably from a combination of having his nose broken and being punched in the chest.

            Eggsy slapped his hand against the ground, blindly searching for the knife, petrified to take his eyes off Jason.

            He wished he was home.

            He wished he was in Harry’s arms.

            He wished he had told Harry he loved him, even if Harry never returned his feelings.

            He wished a lot of things.

            But mostly, he wished he could have seen Harry one last time.

            Jason swung the padlock over his head with a sickeningly satisfied grin. Eggsy didn’t blink. He didn’t squeeze his eyes closed. He stared wide-eyed into Jason’s face, his mind still racing for an escape.

            Just as Jason brought down the padlock, chaos erupted. Eggsy rolled out of the way, barely missing the padlock as it struck the concrete with enough force to crack it.

            “Down on the ground!” Someone shouted and a swarm of SCO19 officers flooded around them. Eggsy stood shakily to his feet, head still spinning.

            The crowd scattered. Some tried to run, but there were too many officers. Eggsy considered bolting. Jason tried to use the chainlock on one of the officers, and Eggsy watched as he was gunned down.

He stared unblinkingly at Jason’s body, not resisting when someone in black gear came over and knocked him to his knees. It didn’t register how fucked he was until he was being loaded into the back of a wagon.

* * *

            Eggsy expected to be thrown into a cell with a bunch of the other men apprehended. He didn’t know if D’Angelo was caught. He wasn’t in the wagon Eggsy was brought in, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been in one of the others.

            When they arrived at the station, Eggsy was directed to an interrogation room. He’d been bandaged before they carted him a way. The EMT urged for him to be taken to a hospital to have his nose properly set and his ribs looked at, but that didn’t happen. Eggsy gingerly touched his bandaged nose and winced at the lightning bolt of pain.

            No one came for the longest time. He sat in the cold room, staring at his reflection in the two-way mirror. It wasn’t pretty. His face was muddled with bruises and wrapped up in bandages. He looked like a half-unraveled mummy.

            Eggsy wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Eventually he started to shiver, the rush of adrenaline that had been keeping him warm finally dropping.

            Abruptly the door banged open and Percival walked in. He fixed Eggsy with an unimpressed, calloused look and threw a thick file down on the table as he simultaneously kicked the door closed.

            “I should say I’m surprised, but really, I’m _not_.” Percival said. He came around the table to stand across from Eggsy.

            Eggsy set his jaw, but immediately stopped when it sent hot pain radiating up the side of his face.

            “Fuck you,” Eggsy said.

            “Eloquent,” Percival said dryly. “I don’t understand what Harry sees in you.”

            Eggsy stiffened at Harry’s name but kept his mouth shut.

            “So, what did you get out of the break-in? There wasn’t much missing, so it couldn’t have been a lot.”

            “I didn’t do that,” Eggsy snapped. Did Harry think that? Did Harry blame Eggsy?

            “Then why did you leave?” Percival cocked a single eyebrow.

            Eggsy flushed. “I didn’t want him to get hurt again.” He licked his lips and looked away. “I didn’t do it, but… it _was_ my fault.”

            Percival sighed and dragged the chair out, the feet scrapping against the floor. He took a seat, folding his body elegantly.

            “What were you doing there tonight? What could have possessed you to get involved in those fights?”

            He didn’t have an excuse. Even if he tried to explain that he did it for his mum and Daisy, Percival wouldn’t understand. Men like him, who never had to fight and struggle for a single thing, couldn’t grasp the desperation that consumed Eggsy every waking hour. He would never comprehend the lengths a person was capable of going when it meant ascending above the agony.

            And the truth was, Eggsy knew deep down, in the darkest recesses of his mind, that it hadn’t all been about his mum and Daisy. He wanted a better life for them. He would do _anything_ to obtain that. But there had also been another part of him, a broken piece of him, that had simply wanted to hurt and to hurt others. It was the distorted reflection of himself, the grim façade of a boy.

            Eggsy stared down at his hands, his jaw clenched and lips pressed firmly together. When Eggsy didn’t talk, Percival heaved another sigh.

            “I can’t help you if you don’t talk,” Percival said with a thin veil of kindness.

He didn’t want to help Eggsy. He was probably happy Eggsy was there. It proved some point, proved Percival’s beliefs that Eggsy had never been good enough for Harry. Even if he hadn’t fully understood what Eggsy had been to him, Eggsy knew Percival didn’t like him. He’d known the minute the man looked at him the night of the opera.

            “I’m not grassing on anyone,” Eggsy said, meeting Percival’s glare defiantly.

            “These are not men you offer loyalty to Eggsy. Comradery will only land you behind bars. Do you understand this? You’re looking at a long time.”

            Eggsy flared his nostrils with a heavy breath, not speaking.

            “You’re looking at being charged with being in an affray. Assault. Unlawful assembly. Illegal gambling.” He paused, but Eggsy didn’t offer any kind of acknowledgment, even though each charge was another stone sinking into the pit of his stomach. “Unlawful possession of banned weapons.”

            “So, charge me,” Eggsy challenged.

            Percival stood, shoving his chair back. He slammed his hands on the metal table, the force echoing in the room. He leaned forward and whispered, “You’re an idiot, do you know that? After everything Harry’s done for you, you act like an ungrateful little shite.”

            Eggsy frowned, his glare crumbling under the weight of his confusion. “What are you talking about?”

            Percival didn’t answer. Instead he stood and shrugged. “Forget it. You want to rot in prison, be my guest.”

            His caustic words were like bullets. Eggsy flinched at each one.

            He started for the door. Panic seized Eggsy’s heart. He stood, knocking his chair back. “Wait! What do you mean?”

            Percival turned, his calloused expression never wavering. “Why did you do it?”

            Eggsy balled his hands at his sides. He considered throwing a punch. Percival wasn’t a big guy. Certainly nothing compared to the men Eggsy had dominated all ready. But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t.

            “I had no choice,” Eggsy said, hating that his voice cracked.

            “That’s bullshite and you know it. There’s always a choice.”

            “Maybe for men like you,” Eggsy shouted, his fury leaking into his voice. “It’s easy to pass judgment up there in your ivory tower. But we plebs don’t get many choices. Fighting was the only way I could get my family to a better life, and I’m not apologizing for that.”

            “No one wants your apologies,” Percival said, walking over to Eggsy. He stared down at Eggsy, and for the first time since Percival came into the room, Eggsy felt like a small child. “There are _always_ choices. You could have gone to Harry. You could have gone to Roxy. You could have fucking called me.”

            “I wasn’t going to risk Dean hurting him,” Eggsy croaked, tears springing to his eyes. He furiously swiped them away. “I didn’t know what to do.”

            Eggsy jumped when a hand clamped his shoulders. He glanced up, his breath hitching. Percival’s hard façade finally cracked.

            “I know what it’s like more than you realize, Eggsy. I grew up on the streets too. I fought for everything I got. For my house. For my job. For my life with Merlin. And I’m still fighting for it. But it all starts with a choice.”

            Eggsy didn’t say anything, but it wasn’t in an act of defiance. He just didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know what to do. And for the first time he was scared about what was going to happen.

            “I’m giving you one more chance,” Percival said. “You get one more choice. Make it count.”

            Eggsy nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek.

            “I can make the charges go away. All of this can be wiped clean. But I need you to testify against D’Angelo Marcus. Tell us everything you know.”

            Eggsy never grassed on anyone in his life. His code of honor had been the only thing he’d been able to preserve. But now it could be the one thing that ruins him.

            He drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay… I’ll tell you.”

* * *

            It was over two hours later before Eggsy could leave. Percival stepped out towards the end to make a phone call. When it was over, all Eggsy wanted to do was go home and go to bed. Percival released him and he collected his things. It was morning by the time he finally left Holborn Police Station.

            Eggsy fished out his headphones and placed them buds in his ears. A new kind of numbness had washed over him in the last few hours. What was he supposed to feel about turning in D’Angelo? He didn’t owe the man anything. It wasn’t regret of guilt. Only emptiness. His finally opportunity to save his family had shuddered closed, and he’d been the one to do it.

            He turned on [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDbAtWpoA6k) and headed down the steps. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure leaning lackadaisically against the wall. Eggsy slowed to a stop, taking a.

n earbud out, and turned to face Harry.

            Heart thundering louder than his music, Eggsy asked, “What are you doing here?”

            “A little gratitude would be nice,” Harry said and pushed off the wall.

            “You did this?” Eggsy glanced to the front doors of the station. Of course, Harry did. Percival wouldn’t have extended the kindness he had otherwise.

            “Among other things,” Harry stated enigmatically and Eggsy clenched his teeth.

            Being this close to him, seeing him after so long, left him breathless. It was like being in night for six months and then finally seeing the sun. Eggsy had to look away. It took all his strength not to go to Harry, not to reach out and touch him, to confirm that he was real and not some kind of figment of his imagination.

            “Well, thanks,” Eggsy said, more flippant than he meant.

            “You’ve made it very hard to find you,” Harry said.

            “That’s because I didn’t want to be found.”

            Because he knew that letting Harry go was the best answer.

            “I’ve come to realize that,” Harry said. He had on a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes. “Thankfully your friend Brandon was more concerned for your wellbeing than you were yourself.”

            Disappointment laced Harry’s voice and Eggsy gulped. He shouldn’t feel so wretched at that, especially when Harry hadn’t said anything calloused, but he might as well have slapped him.

            “Brandon spoke to you?” Eggsy whispered.

            “Yes.” Harry took a step closer. “I owe him a debt of gratitude. Without him reaching out, Percival never would have located the fight ring.”

            Eggsy didn’t respond, mostly because he didn’t know what to say. How did he explain the fight? He’d already tried with Percival, and he’d only thrown it back in Eggsy’s face.

            “You’re better than that,” Harry said, with such surety and conviction that Eggsy wished he was.

            “No,” Eggsy deadpanned. “I’m not.”

            Harry’s nostrils flared and Eggsy expected him to walk away. Instead he tipped his head in the direction of the pavement and said, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

            “I should go,” Eggsy said. If he talked with Harry, he would say something stupid. And Eggsy couldn’t risk that.

            “Please,” Harry said. “You owe me at least that.”

            Eggsy clenched his jaw. _Damn it._

He considered the Black Prince, but from the soft tone Harry used, Eggsy knew this wouldn’t be a conversation suited for the public. And he couldn’t risk Dean finding Harry.

            “Let’s go back to your place,” Eggsy said.

            They took a cab back to Harry’s flat. Neither spoke on the ride home. Eggsy rested his head against the window with his headphones on. Harry sat close enough that his thigh brushed against Eggsy’s every time he shifted in his seat. Eggsy could feel the heat of his body next to his, even through layers of clothes.

            It would be easy to reach across the seat and take Harry’s hand. Eggsy curled his arm around his stomach, tucking his hand between his body and the door. He watched the street pass, until the world blurred. He was exhausted. It had been a long night. His face hurt from where he’d taken punches and his ribs throbbed with each breath. The glass of the taxi felt good against his flushed cheek.

            He must have dozed off along the ride, because he was shaken awake by Harry. Eggsy snorted and wiped his mouth on his chin.

            “Come along darling,” Harry instructed.

            Hearing the pet name again made Eggsy’s stomach flip. He slipped out of the taxi and followed Harry inside. Out of instinct, he started to remove his shoes, but caught himself halfway and put them back on.

            “What do you need to talk about?” Eggsy asked, standing resolutely in front of the door.

            “Perhaps we should get a nice cup of tea,” Harry said. “and sit in the living room.”

            “No,” Eggsy said. He wanted to be as close to the door as possible in case he needed to bolt.

            This wasn’t a friendly visit. This was Harry scolding him, telling him how disappointed he was, and Eggsy accepting that he ruined the one good thing in his life.

            “Just say what you need to say,” Eggsy said.

            Harry sighed and slipped off his glasses. Eggsy hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his eyes until he got to see them again. He missed everything. The shape of Harry’s mouth. The line of his jaw. The way his eyelashes grazed his cheeks when he blinked. The curl of hair that always escaped and fell along his forehead. He missed the scent of his cologne and the brush of fingers along his back.

            He missed Harry.

            “You left without saying goodbye,” Harry said, catching Eggsy off guard.

            “What?” Eggsy whispered.

            “I woke up and you weren’t there.” It wasn’t necessarily an accusation, but there was an aching in his voice. Guilt lanced through Eggsy. “All that was there was my destroyed house.”

            “Harry…”

            “I looked for you,” Harry said. “Do you know that? I had Roxy reach out to you. But you always sent us to voicemail.”

            Eggsy licked his lips but didn’t speak. Harry didn’t give him a chance to.

            “And then you came here. That was you, wasn’t it? When I opened the door, I knew. The boy who waited.”

            “Harry…”

            “How could you do something so stupid?” Harry demanded. “A fight ring? Drug running?”

            “You know about that too?”

            “You have friends who care about you. More than you realize.”

            Eggsy stared at his feet, not sure how to respond.

            “Why?” Harry asked.

            “What?”

            “Why did you leave? Go back to him—to that life?”

            Eggsy threw out his arms, even though Harry couldn’t see the gesture. “What did you expect me to do? Dean knew where you lived. He destroyed everything—he wasn’t going to stop until I went back home.”

            “Let me handle it, that’s what I expected!”

            “How? By throwing money at it? Not everything can be bought Harry!” Eggsy shouted, finally latching onto an emotion he knew how to handle. The anger was familiar, was comforting. It was an old friend who Eggsy could turn to when there was nothing else.

            “Do you think that’s all I do? Percival is investigating it. He found clues that tie Dean to the scene. If you hadn’t run off, you would have learned that! Instead you acted foolishly and got yourself into even more trouble!”

            “Well sorry we can’t all have the luxuries you do. But I wasn’t going to let Dean hurt you again.” Eggsy clenched his hands at his sides. “We’re from different worlds Harry.”

            “Bullshite,” Harry spat. “That’s an excuse and you know it. You ran away.”

            “Ran away from what Harry?” Eggsy shouted.

            “From me! From home!”

            Somehow the space between them had grown shorter, until there was barely a foot between them.

            Eggsy sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered.

            “Trust me.”

            “How?”

            How did he trust someone when there had never been anyone there before? It had always been just Eggsy.

            Harry cupped his face, his thumb brushing away the dampness on his cheek. “By letting me in, darling boy. I’ve been standing right here.”

            A shudder escaped Eggsy. “I can’t… Dean…”

            “Dean isn’t a problem anymore,” Harry said.

            “What?”

            “I told you, he got sloppy. He left evidence of the evasion. Percival is using it to get a warrant.”

            As if on que, Eggsy’s phone rang. He turned away from Harry and answered it with a mumble. “Hello?”

            “Eggsy, what the hell is going on?” Brandon demanded. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy croaked. “I uh, can I call you back?”

            “There are cops at your apartment. They’re arresting Dean and some of his boys!” Brandon said, ignoring Eggsy.

            Eggsy glanced at Harry, who stood patiently behind him. “I’ll call you back Brandon.”

            He hung up before Brandon could answer.

            “Is this real?” Eggsy asked.

            “Considering the work your step father did, I’m sure they’ll find enough at your flat to put him away for a very long time.”

            Eggsy’s phone blew up with calls and texts. Brandon sent him a series, along with his mum and Ryan. Eggsy silenced it, trying to process everything that happened. All the anger that had flooded his system moments ago, vanished and left him exhausted.

            Dean was gone?

            His eyes widened, a giddiness seizing his chest.

            Dean was gone.

            “Holy shite,” Eggsy whispered.

            They could start over. He could use the money he got from fighting to help his mum. They could get jobs. His mum wouldn’t have to worry about Dean hurting the baby or Daisy. They could begin anew.

            Eggsy looked at Harry. “You did this… why? Why would you do this for me?”

            “Because, somehow I’ve grown accustomed to you. Somehow, I’ve grown fond of the noisy, stubborn boy who sat on my doorstop in the rain,” Harry said, causing Eggsy’s heart to stutter. “I never thought I could let someone in after James. I never _wanted_ to. And then you came, and I learned that I didn’t want to die.”

            “You idiot,” Eggsy whispered. “Why didn’t you say something?”

            “Because I was a fool and thought you would always be there. And then you were gone and I realized how much I missed you.” Harry shook his head and gathered Eggsy’s hands in his own. “I love you my darling boy, as ardently and deeply as the moon has loved the sea.”

            Eggsy choked on a laugh.

            “You’re so cheesy,” Eggsy said and he loved it, so much.

            “What do you want darling? What will make you happy?” Harry asked.

            Eggsy didn’t even need to think about it. He threw his arms around Harry’s neck and whispered, “To come home.”

            For a moment time paused. It was captured in the space between their lips as Eggsy stared into Harry’s eyes. Harry’s arms came around his waist, holding him close, and Eggsy could feel their hearts thundering in unison.

            A lifetime of goodbyes and hellos, a galaxy of possibilities, existed in the infiniteness of those milliseconds. Eggsy found the universe there in Harry’s eyes, and it only grew when he felt the first brush of lips.

            Eggsy’s mouth slid against Harry’s, soft and pliant as he opened to the warmth that Harry offered him, and the world faded to that single moment in time.

            He’d spent his entire life searching for the place he belonged, and as Harry kissed him, Eggsy realized that it had always been right here.

            When they parted, Harry trailed the back of his hand along the length of Eggsy’s jaw and whispered, “I have wanted to do that for a very long time.”

            Eggsy grinned, his nose brushing against Harry’s.

“So have I,” he whispered back.

He knew there was so much more they needed to discuss. What everything meant with Dean. What it meant with Harry and Eggsy. What would happen when the D’Angelo case started. But neither were interested in that.

Harry took Eggsy’s hand and led him upstairs to his bedroom. The last time Eggsy had stepped foot in Harry’s room it had looked like a natural disaster had struck it. Eggsy almost expected to see Harry’s life scattered on the floor, still broken and discarded. But everything had been swept away and put back in its place.

Eggsy stopped at the door. Harry let go of his hand and turned to him. “Eggsy?”

He looked around the room, taking in Harry’s life. It was a life before him. A life filled with love. A life that had been happy. And then a life that had been cold.

Would he fit into this life?

Harry took his hand again and drew him towards the bed. “You belong here.”

“How did—”

“Because I had thought the same thing once,” Harry said.

Eggsy smiled—it was sad and happy, a strange mix of emotions like the cool breeze on a spring day—and squeezed Harry’s hand.

“What was he like?” Eggsy asked.

“Wondrous,” Harry said with pure adoration. “I think you would have loved him.”

            Eggsy didn’t doubt it. He supposed it was strange not to be jealous of this person that held a piece of Harry’s heart. But he isn’t. Not when he thought of the happiness James had brought Harry.

            “I think I would have too,” Eggsy said.

            “When I first met James, I had thought he was an idiot,” Harry said. He took a seat on the bed and pulled Eggsy down next to him. “We were in college. My vision wasn’t as bad then, but I still had issues. I felt… different from everyone else. And they treated me differently. Sometimes it was like I was from a different world.”

            Eggsy slid his hand into Harry’s and pressed their palms together. Harry curled his fingers around Eggsy’s.

            “Then James showed up. This magnificent wreaking ball draped in plaid. He smoked clove cigarettes because he thought it made him look sophisticated and he imagined himself a character from an Oscar Wilde novel. He always smelled sweet, of clove smoke and rich cologne.”

            Harry smiled fondly. “He heard me playing the piano and he told me it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever listened to.”

            “It is,” Eggsy agreed.

            “I told him to get lost,” Harry admitted.

            “Why?”

            “Because he confused me. I didn’t know what to make of him. I saw him through broken eyes and I was afraid he’d see me as broken. But he didn’t,” Harry said. “He came by every day to listen to me play. And every time he’d proclaim that he loved him, and I would tell him to go away.”

            Eggsy shook his head. He could see Harry being that stubborn. “I can understand how he feels.”

            “I’m sure you can.” Harry chuckled. “I knew then that you were dangerous. You’re so much like him, and it petrified me. I had thought what we had was lightning in a bottle, and I’d accepted that I would die without ever knowing it again. And then there you were.”

            “I love you Harry,” Eggsy said. “I know I can’t be James. I could never replace him—but I’ll love you all the same.”

            “Oh, darling boy,” Harry said and drew Eggsy into his arms. “I would never want you to replace him. What I had with James was special and it was ours. What I have with you will be special and it will be ours. And I can’t wait to live it.”

            Eggsy kissed Harry, giddy on the ability to do so, and melted into his welcoming embrace.

            Harry cradled Eggsy like he was precious. He peeled away his clothes, and with them took all the layers and walls Eggsy had built over the years. A pile of clothes formed at the foot of the bed and they were left naked and kneeling on the mattress.

            Late morning light streamed in through the open window and illuminated Harry. Eggsy reached for Harry, but he caught his wrist and ordered softly, “Close your eyes.”

            Eggsy closed them. Harry set Eggsy’s hand on his face.

            He’d seen Harry’s face so many times. Could see it even when his eyes were closed. But now he saw it through his fingertips. He traced curve of his cheekbone and swept his thumb down his jaw. It was like trailing a sparkler through the dark. A fleeting light trail drew the features of Harry’s face in brilliant luminosity.

            Eggsy’s breath leaked out in a shudder as he mapped his way from the bridge of Harry’s nose, down the length of his neck, and across the broad expanse of his shoulders. He was an explorer crossing uncharted waters.

            Suddenly a hand was on his own face. As he explored the plains of Harry’s chest through his hands, Harry set out on his own expedition.

            A greatness swelled in Eggsy’s chest from deep within. He didn’t know if his ribcage could contain the immensity of it. He cupped both of his hands along the balls of Harry’s shoulders and swept them up to cradle his face.

            “You’re beautiful,” Eggsy whispered.

            Harry’s fingers hesitated along the bandages of Eggsy’s nose. He tenderly dusted the across bruises and along the grooves of his ribcages, as if he could sense the dull ache.

            “Was this from…”

            “Yeah,” Eggsy said before he finished the question.

            Harry kissed his nose gingerly. “My beautiful darling boy.”

            He stretched Eggsy out across the bed. Eggsy kept his eyes closed. He saw when his nerves sparked beneath Harry’s touch. For the first time, Eggsy handed himself over completely, and Harry accepted him. He slipped slicked fingers in, reached for Eggsy’s soul, and opened him.

            When Harry pressed between his thighs, Eggsy let out a long silent cry. He arched his spine and wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, anchoring him in place.

            So often he’d found comfort in someone else’s body in order to seek salvation. Now he offered it, taking Harry in, over and over again. Harry’s mouth was hot and wet against his own. His breath ghosted over Eggsy’s cheek and the curve of his neck.

            He never wanted it to end. He wanted to stay there, wrapped around Harry. He was a star being born. Burning brilliantly.

            Eggsy came in Harry’s hand, a sobbing mess against his shoulder. Harry buried deep inside him in return. Even after they came, they never let go. Eggsy held onto Harry until he fell asleep.

* * *

            Eggsy woke to an empty bed. He groggily reached across the mattress and only found a warm indention where Harry had lain. He remained there under the blankets and studied the spot. A content feeling he’d never known settled in him like a lazy cat basking in the sun.

            He rolled over and found his pants. He fished his phone out, absently registering that it was well into the afternoon. There were several missed calls from his mum and Brandon, but he decided they could wait. He wasn’t ready to deal with the world.

            Eggsy got up and found a red robe in the bathroom. He wrapped it around himself, cinching the belt, and buried his nose in the collar. It smelled pleasantly of Harry.

            He padded downstairs, retracing a path that had been walked many times by Harry before him. It had been the same path James had taken. Eggsy smiled at the thought.

 

            Lambent sunlight streamed in from the window in the living room and draped over Harry. He sat in front of a restored piano, his head bowed peacefully. Eggsy slowed to a stop at the foot of the stairs and watched Harry [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yPpJp_kGZMY).

            With the gentle notes of the song, hope grew inside Eggsy and filled the flat. He came around the stairs to where Harry was, never taking his eyes off him.

            Harry acknowledged him by tipping his head towards the empty spot on the bench. Eggsy took his place beside Harry and watched his hands as they danced over the keys. Even though he’d seen Harry play before, it was different now. There’d always been a shroud of secrecy borne from the night. Sorrow had prevailed over him, and by proxy, ate at Eggsy.

            All of that had been stripped away and Eggsy found himself relaxing against Harry. Neither spoke, they didn’t need to. All that needed to be said was there in Harry’s hands, in the movements of the keys.

            Eggsy laid his head on Harry’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and listened.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs in this chapter
> 
> _Another Time, Another Place_ , Robin Spielberg  
>  _The Approaching Night_ , Philip Wesley


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